


Scars

by tuppenny



Series: Scars [1]
Category: Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Alcohol, F/M, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Jack is a Little Shit, Lots of Cursing, Meet-Cute, Panic Attacks, Referenced Parent Death, Self-Harm, Slow Burn, modern college au, okay now there's more than just slight innuendo sorry small children, referenced sibling death, slight innuendo, so is katherine to be honest but Jack is even worse, some blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-10
Updated: 2018-03-08
Packaged: 2019-03-16 10:26:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 57,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13634406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tuppenny/pseuds/tuppenny
Summary: In which Katherine gets to know Jack by listening to him tell stories about his scars. Dumb summary. Whatever. If you have a better suggestion I am all ears.





	1. Chapter 1

Katherine pattered down the steps of Pulitzer Hall, frowning at the assignment sheet in her hand. _Write a profile of a fellow student. Your interview subject must be someone you have never met before. This assignment is designed to help you learn how to write in-depth, thoughtful biographical pieces, so make sure to cover your subject’s childhood, adolescence, present, and future goals. 2,000 word minimum._

How the heck was she supposed to get a stranger to sit down to talk with her long enough and openly enough to get the material she needed for this piece? Maybe taking a senior seminar on the Diverse Role of Interviews in Journalism had been a mistake. She loved Professor Larkin, as did anyone in the journalism program who was actually willing to do the assigned readings and work hard, but this project was going to be a bear. She was stewing over this when suddenly something crashed into her back and knocked her forwards onto the sidewalk, causing her to skin her hands and knees, bash her chin on the brick, and tear a massive hole in her favorite lavender tights. 

“Shit!” She heard a warm voice behind her. “I’m so sorry—are you okay?”

She groaned and pushed herself into a sitting position, trying to blink back the tears that had sprung into her eyes at the shock. A broad-shouldered young man shifted into her line of sight and crouched down in front of her, concern written clearly across his face. “ ‘M so sorry,” he repeated. “Fuckin’ Race was lettin’ me ride with him on his skateboard, but then he jumped off for a laugh, an’ I dunno how ta steer the damn thing, an’ then I was goin’ so fast I didn’t have enough time ta figure out how not ta hit ya, so… Yeah, I’m real sorry about that. Lemme help you up?” He offered a hand to her. 

She stared at it blankly for a second, noticing the flecks of paint on his palm and a to-do list scrawled on the inside of his wrist in messy ballpoint pen. She looked up at him and snapped, “You couldn’t have jumped off _before_ you whacked my head into the bricks?” 

His mouth dropped open. “Shit, it all happened so damn fast, I—”

“An empty head _and_ a foul mouth—you’re a real winner, aren’t you.” 

He knit his brows. “Hey, I said I was sorry!”

“Sorry doesn’t fix my tights!” She gestured to the hole in the fabric over her knee and then instantly wished she hadn’t—the look he cast at her legs was entirely too appreciative. “It also doesn’t stop me from bleeding,” she added hurriedly, showing him her palms. “So, in case you were still confused, I am under no obligation whatsoever to accept your half-assed apology!”

“Now who’s got the foul mouth?” He asked, sitting back on his heels and giving her an infuriating smirk.

Katherine growled and made a face, only to gasp as she felt a sudden pain in her chin. She put her hand to it and came away with blood—rather a lot of blood, in fact. She dissolved into tears then, not because it hurt (it did, but not much) or because she was scared of blood (she wasn’t), but because this had all happened so fast and it was overwhelming and it had scared her and this boy was irritating and her head ached and she wasn’t sure what she was feeling or what she was going to do about it and—well, the best thing her body could think to do to was cry.

“Fuck,” the boy said, an edge of panic in his voice. He squatted a little lower and tilted his head to look at the bottom of her chin. “Oh, it ain’t a deep cut,” he said, visibly relieved. “Just a lotta blood. You’s gonna be fine.”

Katherine only sobbed harder. “I know that!”

The boy held up his hands. “Geez, okay! Ya ain’t gotta be so touchy about it!”

“ _Don’t tell me what to do!_ ” 

The boy backed up a little and started to straighten up to leave, and Katherine was happy, good, get out of here, that’s right, leave without so much as picking up the books he’d knocked out of her arms, but then he sighed and crouched back down. He fished around in his back pocket for a second and pulled out a surprisingly clean swatch of fabric. “Here. Hold this against your chin; the bleedin’ll stop if ya puts enough pressure to it.” 

“I _know_ ,” she hissed through gritted teeth, but she did take the cloth, careful not to so much as brush his fingers with her own.

They sat there for a minute as they waited for the bleeding to stop, Katherine pointedly looking everywhere but at him, him mostly looking down at his shoes. He cleared his throat after a little bit and said, “I, uh, I really am sorry. ‘S there anythin’ I can do ta make it up ta you?” He rubbed at the back of his neck, grinding flakes of paint into his tan skin. “Maybe, I dunno, I could take ya ta the infirm’ry or somethin’?”

“I’m not _infirm_ ,” she said hotly. “And there is nothing you can do to make it up to me except _leave_.”

This time he didn’t get offended or snappy; he just hugged his knees and cocked his head like an owl. “Are you sure?”

She scowled and met his eyes. “Of _course_ I’m—” _Oh_. _What if… yes, no, wait—hang on, that… that could work…_ “Actually,” she said, her voice suddenly calculating rather than furious. “You could let me interview you. For my journalism class.”

He blinked. “What?” 

“I have to interview a stranger about their life and write a 2,000-word profile on them. You’re a stranger, and you owe me.” 

“We ain’t strangers!” He protested. “We’s talked!” She raised an eyebrow and he scrambled, “We… uh… I’s laid on top a ya! In _public_!”

She rolled her eyes. “You slammed into my backpack because you’re an idiot, and we don’t know each other’s names. That means we’re strangers. Do you want to make it up to me or not?”

He hung his head and covered his eyes with his hands. “Yeah, okay, fine. C’n we just do it now, though? Get it over with?”

“Love to,” she said, starting to grab around for her textbooks. “The sooner you’re out of my life, the better.”

He bit back what she was sure would’ve been a sharp comment and directed his attention to helping her gather her things and then helping her up from the gritty brick walkway. 

She fished around in her backpack for hand sanitizer and a bandaid, wiping off her hands, chin, and (awkwardly) her knees as they walked to the student union. She grimaced slightly as she poked at her chin to find where to put the bandaid, and the boy, plainly uncomfortable, offered, “D’ya, uh, need a hand there?”

“No,” she said, and he nodded, relaxing slightly as he noticed that her tone was a little less sharp than before. He sped up just before they got to the Union to hold the door open for her, and she thanked him with a short nod. “We can sit there,” she said, gesturing to a round table off to the left of the entrance. 

“ ‘Kay,” he said, and followed her over, slinging his backpack onto the floor and falling into the chair with a whump. 

“Let’s get started, then,” she said, pulling out a small Moleskine notebook and her favorite acid-free, lignin-free pen. 

“Hang on,” he said, “You got a name?”

“Katherine Pulitzer,” she said, extending a hand.

“Pulitzer?” He asked, his eyes narrowing. “As in Pulitzer Hall?” 

“I’m the one asking the questions here,” she said. “Let’s start with the basics—name, year, major, hometown, career goals?”

He snorted. “I got a right ta know if I’m talkin’ ta someone who’s related ta the head of the fuckin’ board of trustees,” he said, and folded his arms over his chest.

“Actually, no, you don’t,” she said. “We all got pocket Constitutions in our mailboxes last semester. Crack yours open sometime.”

He glared at her, and she sighed. _Don’t antagonize your interview subjects, Katherine,_ she heard Medda’s voice in her ears. _Let them speak instead of jumping down their throats._

“You really don’t have a right to know,” she said, sighing. “And I don’t see how it matters, either, but yes, I am related.”

“How?” He demanded.

“I _really_ don’t see—”

“You tell me or this interview is over,” he said, reaching for the strap of his battered backpack. 

“Joseph Pulitzer is my father,” she said hurriedly. She needed this interview.

“That bastard is your _father_?” He spluttered. “Yeah, that’s it, I’m outta here.”

He sprang up from the chair and bent to grab his things, but she clutched his wrist and yanked him around to face her. “You owe me,” she said, and at his scornful laugh, she added, “Look, if you want, we can spend part of the interview talking about why you hate my father. You can exorcise your demons by using me as a stand-in for him—I don’t mind. Let’s be honest, this is as close as you’ll ever get to telling Joseph Pulitzer what you think.” He raised an eyebrow, and, sensing an opening, she added, “And if this piece turns out, I’m planning on submitting it to a few different amateur journalism competitions, so you’ll have a wide audience for your complaints, too.”

He pursed his lips. “You’ll hafta let me read the finished article an’ authorize the quotes before you submit it.” 

“You can read the finished article, flag any bias you see, and point out misquotes or misrepresentations,” she said, “But I will make all edits at my own discretion, and I can publish with or without your authorization.” 

“I get ta kill the piece if it ain’t fair.” 

“If you’ve got a legitimate gripe, you don’t have anything to worry about. My father calls me ‘maddeningly scrupulous.’ If the article makes you look bad, it’ll be because of things you said, not because of editorial comments from me.” He frowned, and she stared him down. “Look, I’m happy to send you some samples of my work, but I swear I’m telling the truth. I don’t have an agenda here.” She quirked the left side of her lips in a non-smile. “My father and I aren’t close, anyway. I think a little too independently for his tastes.” 

He held her gaze for a minute, clearly trying to suss out her intentions. Eventually, he sighed. “Fine. You send me some samples, an’ once you write this piece then I get ta read it, point out any errors, an’ add a paragraph rebuttal at the end if I wanna.”

She tugged at one of her diamond earrings and looked him up and down. “Okay. Deal.”

He spat in his hand and held it out to her to shake. She raised an eyebrow, but he stood firm. “We ain’t doin’ this ‘less you spit-shake on it. Spit-shake deals is sacred.”

“Haven’t you ever heard of pinky promises?” She grumbled, but did as he wanted and then wiped her hand off on her dirty tights. “Can we please do this interview now?” She asked. “I have other things I need to do today.”

He rested his feet on the table and tilted his chair back so the front legs were off the floor. “Me too, sweet cheeks,” he said. “Fire away.”

“Name, year, major, hometown, and career goals,” she repeated, pen hovering over the blank page.

He coughed into his shoulder and then wiped his nose on his sleeve, ignoring Katherine’s look of revulsion. “Jack Kelly, senior, visual arts, New York City, ain’t got no career goals.”

“No career goals? But you’re a senior!”

“In _visual arts_ ,” he said, disgusted with himself. “What the fuck was I thinkin’, do you know how _hard_ it is ta get a job in that?”

“Oh come on,” she said, “There’s plenty of illustration work out there, or you could freelance, or work in graphic design, or—” She shook her head. “You know what, I’m not here to talk you out of your own misguided pessimism. Let’s move on. Tell me about your childhood.” 

“What are ya, my shrink?” 

 _His body language is so closed off,_ she thought. _Stop being so aggressive. Put him at ease_. She dialed up the charm and flashed a brilliant smile. “It’s just that there aren’t all that many native New Yorkers. So many people would kill to get to New York City—what was it like to grow up here?” 

He scoffed. “Huh. I should get one of those delusional bastards ta come snuff me an' take my spot—I’m dyin’ ta get away.”

“Why’s that?” Katherine asked, resting her head on her hand and leaning in to signal her interest.

“Ya can’t hardly breathe in this city,” he complained. “ ‘S all fumes an’ noise an’ nasty fuckers like your pops, stiffin’ the workin’ folks of this city outta their pay an’ layin’ ‘em off when times gets tough just so’s they can save a few bucks. They don’t give a shit about nothin’ but their bottom line—who cares if the penny-pinchin’ means puttin’ a guy outta work, strippin’ him of his dignity, drivin’ him ta drink, leavin’ a whole family hard up an’ homeless….” 

“Is that what happened to you and your family?” Katherine asked, keeping her voice perfectly neutral so as not to scare him off. 

His eyes shuttered anyway, and he let his chair fall onto the ground with a bang. “What if it is? You don’t know me.”

“But I’d like to,” she said soothingly. “And I agree, the city can be loud and dirty and awfully cruel.”

“What would a trust fund baby like you know about cruelty,” he said, but she could tell his heart wasn’t in it.

“Where would you like to live, then?” She said, ignoring the jab.

He adjusted out of his slumped posture and his eyes lit up. “Ya ever hear of Santa Fe?” He asked, suddenly animated.

“Sure; it’s the capital of New Mexico,” she said. “What about it?” 

He leaned forwards and grabbed her left hand. “ ‘S the most beautiful place in the world,” he said fervently. “ ‘S clean an’ green an’-- an' the _sunsets_! Fuck, the sky looks like ‘s burnin’ the earth ta ash ev’ry night, they’s so bright. C'n you imagine watchin' the night come down around ya, swallowin' up the crimson an' jasper an' vermilion that's stainin' yer skin? C'n you imagine that? Standin' there in the desert, starin' at the world as it vanishes in fronta ya? Picture it a minute, yeah? Standin' there by yaself in total silence, no sirens or screams muddyin' up the colors, everythin' awash in flame before it disappears inta pure, jet black... ” He shook his head. "Santa Fe," he murmured. "Helluva place."

“You’ve got a way with words,” she said, smiling. 

He scooted away from her again, his eyes darkening. “My GPA says different.”  

“Well, so are you moving to Santa Fe after graduation, then?”

He laughed. “Yeah, sure. Soon‘s I come inta my inheritance an' have a million bucks ta spare, I'll be on my way.”

 _Good grief, he’s difficult_ , she thought, and tried her best not to let her annoyance read on her face. “You said you’re a visual arts major?” She said, taking a different tack. “What kind of media do you work with?”

“Ooh, media,” he mocked, but when she didn’t react, he shifted awkwardly and rubbed the back of his neck. “Uh, I paint, mostly,” he said, his eyes flicking away from her. “An’, uh, I mix that inta collages with found objects, some, too. ‘S, uh, ‘s a lotta abstract stuff? Kinda weird…”

“Do you have any photos?” She asked, pulling her chair closer to his.

He flushed. “Yeah, um… Well, actually I could, uh, I could show ya one in person?”

“You have one in your backpack?” She asked, surprised. His work didn't exactly sound portable.

“No, um…” His blush darkened. “The school… The school bought…” He stared at his scuffed Converse. “They bought one of my pieces? ‘S hangin’ over there,” he said, jerking his head towards the wall to his right.

Her eyes widened as she turned to stare at the massive canvas hanging on display. It was a swirl of bright colors, mostly warm tones that gradually faded into dusky grays. She stood to admire it more closely, noticing that he used paint just as much for texture as for color. There were sloppy globs of red, delicate brushes of gold, and a series of wavy blush lines of medium weight, each smoothed out by the press of a careful finger. As she stepped nearer, she started to be able to see the found objects he’d mentioned before—the top half of a baseball card, several old paintbrushes, ticket stubs from blockbuster movies, and crumpled bits of newspapers with headlines screaming about refugees and Syria and the plight of the Rohingya. She paused, impressed; she hadn’t figured him for someone with an international political conscience. She walked back to the table and retook her seat. “You’ve got real talent,” she said, bouncing her pen on her notebook. “What’s the name of the piece?”

“Scars I,” he muttered, brushing at his nose. “ ‘S part of a series ‘m doin’ fer my senior showcase. They’ll loan me it back for the exhibit this spring.”

“What inspired you to pick that title?” She saw that dark look flash across his face again, and she sighed inwardly. She was doing her darndest to be as unthreatening as possible, she really was, but this kid was like a sea anemone. 

“ ‘S a dumb title,” he muttered.

“I think it’s evocative,” she said, “But we don’t have to talk about it. Tell me about what college has been like for you—you mentioned you had a friend named Race? How do you two know each other?”

Jack laughed at that. “Oh man, that kid. He’s a trip, lemme tell you! This one time…”

Katherine patted herself on the back; she’d finally found a topic he was willing to prattle on about. He was leaning in close, his eyes were bright, and he was illustrating every point with expressive gestures. Half an hour later, they were both chuckling at yet another story about an unbelievably absurd situation that he and his buddies had gotten into in the last couple of years, and she noticed with a shock that he was handsome. Like, ridiculously, how-did-you-not-notice-this-Katherine-you-moron handsome. She did her best not to blush and to tear her eyes away from his full, dusky rose lips. It was nearly impossible, though, given that every few seconds he was flashing that roguish smile and unleashing a beautifully warm laugh that made her insides melt. 

“…so that’s how I got this scar on my wrist,” he said, flipping over his arm and pointing to a purplish blotch underneath the now-smudged to-do list. 

Without even thinking, she held his hand in both of hers so that she could peer more closely at his scar. As soon as she realized what she’d done, she froze—everything in her was screaming at her to let go of his hand, let go of his beautiful, strong, calloused— _stop it, Katherine!_ She took a deep breath and renewed her focus on his wrist. She was stuck now—if she jerked away then he might guess she was attracted to him, so maybe if she held it just a little longer he’d think she was just the sort of person who did this sort of thing. Casually. All the time. Although she wasn’t. Not at all. 

She felt his hot breath ruffling the flyaway curls by her forehead and swallowed hard as she realized that he’d gone completely silent. She kept her eyes trained on his wrist as she watched his pulse flutter there, trying to catch her breath as the warmth of his skin burned itself into her memory. The two of them were alone in the hum of the student union, enclosed in their own little bubble as she held his hand and he ducked his head –and those eminently kissable lips– closer to her. Katherine blinked rapidly as she felt his breath move lower. She had to get out of this. She cast around frantically for some sort of distraction, and her eyes settled on his palm, which was bisected diagonally by another scar, this one faint and white.

“What about that one?” She asked, jabbing her finger at it and then pulling her hands away. As she did so, she realized that, in the entire time she'd been holding his hand, he hadn’t made even the slightest attempt to retrieve it from her. She shoved the thought aside.  _You're being completely irrational_ _, Katherine. Stop it already._ Cheeks still pink, she grabbed for her pen and scribbled some nearly unintelligible notes about the end of his previous anecdote. "What's the story behind that scar?"

Jack withdrew his hand and ran it through his floppy hair. “Ya gots ta buy me coffee ta hear that one.” 

“I left my wallet in my dorm room,” she said. 

He shrugged. “Too bad.”

She pursed her lips and looked down at her notebook. She probably had enough to write the article, but she was sure whatever he wasn’t telling her was even juicier than what she’d gotten so far, and she liked to follow her curiosity whenever possible. “What if I buy you a coffee next week? Same time, same place?”

He shrugged again. “ ‘S your money.”

“And your time.”

He laughed and bent to rummage around in his backpack, pulling out a ratty baseball cap that he jammed firmly onto his head. “It’ll take like five minutes tops ta tell that story, an’ I get a free coffee outta it. I'm game.”

“Great,” she said, flipping her notebook shut and stuffing it into her bag. “Thanks, Jack. See you next week.”

“ ‘Kay,” he said, already rising from the table and walking away, adjusting his sweat-stained ballcap to sit even lower over his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My Bundle of Joy fic is giving me _fits_ , so have this in the meantime


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which it's Jack's turn to be annoyed

Jack hadn’t lied; as soon as she’d slid the coffee across the table to him (32 oz, with a pump of hazelnut and two extra shots of espresso—she wasn’t sure if he was serious about the order or trying to gauge her reaction), it had taken him less than five minutes to tell her how he’d gotten the scar on his hand. She could see why he’d essentially required her to pay for the story; it wasn’t the sort of thing you told to strangers. Not freely, anyway. As she sat there, unable to wipe the shock off her face, he went to grab a plastic lid for his coffee. She watched him cross the crowded room and reflected that, looking at him, you’d never know he’d just barreled his way through a story that had left her feeling slightly sick to her stomach. He’d related everything in a monotone, too, as if he were someone at the DMV reading off the call number for the next person in line.

 _Compartmentalization is a phenomenal coping mechanism_ , she thought, as he popped the plastic lid onto his coffee and bent to sling his backpack onto one shoulder. His Henley rucked up slightly as he did so, and she didn’t _mean_ to look, but… well, she was only human. It wasn’t like there was much to see, anyway; a lot less than she’d get on a hot day when he was playing pick-up soccer with his impossibly large group of friends or cheering at a football game (she could just tell that he’d be one of those obnoxious college boys who painted their chests with the school’s letters and sometimes deliberately stood out of order so they could spell something risqué). But in those contexts he was consciously putting himself on display, whereas here she was snatching something he hadn’t meant to give. And he caught her at it. 

“Hadn’t figured you for a peeping Tom, Pulitzer,” he said, his voice dry and one eyebrow raised. 

By some miracle, her face didn’t betray her by blushing. “You’ve got a scar on your lower back,” she commented.

“I’m aware of that, thanks,” he said, adjusting his shirt and fishing that disgustingly ratty baseball cap out of a side pocket of his backpack. 

She persisted. “What’s the story behind that one?”

He snorted. “Ain’t you got enough for that damn assignment yet?”

She gave him a fake smile. “I’m naturally inquisitive.”

“You’s fuckin’ nosy, is what you is,” he said, his tone caustic. She kept her face still, refusing to waver under his sharp words and even sharper stare. She was nosy, sure, but you couldn’t get the things you wanted unless you tried to get them, and that included whatever story was behind the nickel-sized blemish on his back. Evidently he was satisfied with whatever response he found in her expression, because after a second or two he shrugged and jammed that damn hat onto his head. “Ain’t as much to that partic’lar spot-- ‘s pretty borin’, act’lly.” He looked at her, all shrewd calculation, and said, “But, seein’ as you’s loaded, you’s still gotta pay for it.”

Her eyes narrowed. “That’s not fair.”

He laughed. “Oh, that’s a good one, Pulitzer, that’s real good.” He brushed at his nose and shrugged. “See ya.”

He started to leave, and she shot up out of her chair. “Wait!” He turned around slowly, an infuriating smirk spread across his face. She couldn’t believe she was doing this, but— “How much?”

He gave her a quick upwards nod and said, “Bag of chips.”

“Snack size or family size?”

His eyes widened ever so slightly before he schooled his face back to neutral, and Katherine cursed internally. He’d _clearly_ meant just one of those unsatisfying little bags you could get out of the vending machine, and here she’d let him know she was willing to pay more.

It wasn’t a big deal, not really; all she’d done was put herself on the hook for four bucks as opposed to one. Big whoop. Heck, she could buy him a family size bag of chips every day for the rest of his life without even noticing. That wasn’t the point, though—the point was that she’d stupidly given him the upper hand here, and both of them knew it. 

He grinned. “Family size.” 

“Fine,” Katherine sighed. “The mini mart is right there, come pick the one you want.”

“Uh uh,” he said, slipping his arm through the other strap of his backpack and fiddling with it until it laid flat. “I ain’t hungry right now. Next week.”

“They’re in a vacuum-sealed bag, Jack,” she said with exasperation. “You don’t have to eat them right _now_.” 

His eyes darkened. “Next week,” he repeated, and walked away.

“ _Fine_ ,” she said, even though he was already too far away to hear her. “Arrogant little _jerk_.”

 

*

 

Katherine showed up at the Union next week, family-size bag of potato chips in hand. She tried not to laugh as she slid it across the table to him, but it was hard, watching the self-satisfied look on Jack’s face fade as he scanned the bag in front of him.

“The fuck, Pulitzer?” He demanded, jerking his head up to glare at her. “You got me fuckin’ _cappuccino_ flavored chips?”

“You couldn’t bother to wait around and tell me what kind you wanted,” she said smugly, “So I used my best judgment.”

“Your judgment sucks _ass_ ,” he snapped, slamming his hand on the bag so hard that it popped, causing chips to shoot everywhere and making the entire Union fall silent at the bang. 

Katherine’s mouth fell open at that, and the two of them stared at each other for the space of a heartbeat, her eyes round with shock, his slitted in fury. In less than a second, though, her lips were twitching, and then she was giggling, and then she was full-on snort-laughing, bent double over the table and howling with mirth. Jack blinked rapidly and looked slowly around the Union, his eyes going wide as he realized that everyone was watching them. Then he looked over at Katherine and down at himself, both of them covered in pieces of potato chips and cappuccino flavor dust, and he, too, collapsed into laughter.

Once they’d finally caught their breath, he wiped his eyes, picked a handful of semi-intact chips off of the table, and stuffed them in his mouth. “They ain’t made this kind in years on account of how shitty they is,” he commented, grimacing at the taste. “How much didja hafta pay ta get your hands on a bag?”

“A fair bit,” she said with a shrug, “But it was worth every penny.” She grinned, perhaps the first genuine smile she’d ever given him, and leaned back in her chair, massaging her aching stomach muscles.

“Yeah,” he said, his eyes crinkling. “ ‘M gonna hafta tell the boys about this one. It’ll make ‘em lose their shit.” He shoved another handful of chips in his mouth and grinned as he chewed. “I never thought I’d say this, Pulitzer, but—you ain’t half bad.” She smiled, and he winked. “For a trust fund baby, anyway.”

“Gee, thanks,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Better be careful, Jack—if you go around giving everyone compliments like that, you’ll have half the school pregnant in no time at all.”

“Maybe just a quarter,” he said with a smirk. “I like ta mix it up, an’ biology’s a pretty good contraceptive.”

Her cheeks flamed. “Right,” she said, her voice a bit strangled. She dipped her head and fumbled for her notebook. “So, uh, that scar?”

“Mmm,” he said, around yet another mouthful of chips. “Gotta blame Sniper f’r that one.”

“ _Sniper_? As in, a _military_ _sharpshooter_?”

He gave her a look to show her just how much of an idiot he thought she was. “Not _a_ sniper. Just Sniper.” When she raised her eyebrows and shook her head, he sighed and waved his hands around a little. “ ‘S a nickname. He’s a childhood pal.”

“You couldn’t have just said that?”

“You wanna hear this story or not?”

“I paid you,” she said firmly. “You have to tell me this story no matter how many snide comments I make.”

He snorted. “Oh, really.”

“Yes, really.”

“We didn’t spit-shake on it,” he said, holding one hand under the table to slide some chips across the edge and into his palm. 

“Kelly,” she said, a warning note to her voice. 

“I can renege if there ain’t no spit-shake,” he insisted. 

“Someone took International Relations,” Katherine said, bouncing her pen on the table.

“I got a head for formal theory,” he said. “Wanna make somethin’ of it?”

She rolled her eyes, determined not to show him how impressed she was, yet again. Game theory gave her _fits_. She could handle the Prisoner’s Dilemma just fine, but anything beyond that? No. Thank heavens for tutoring. “I want to hear this story, is what I want,” she said, and flipped open the Moleskine.

“Paintball,” he said, and bent to grab his backpack and leave.

“Hang on,” Katherine said, tossing a chip at him. “That’s not a story, that’s a word.”

He stayed standing. “Went paintballin’ with some friends, idiot Elmer got distracted an’ forgot ta watch my back, Sniper snuck up behind us an’ broke the rules by pressin’ his gun right inta my spine an’ firin’ away. Hurt like hell,” he said, and reached for a mostly crumbled chip.

“Ouch,” she said with a sympathetic wince. 

“No shit,” he said, tugging his shirt down. He paused then, giving her a cheeky look. “Ya want I should pull the front up this time, give ya a diff’rent angle?”

She glared at him.

“ ‘S a good show,” he assured her. “I work out.”

“Fuck off,” she said, grabbing her own backpack and rising from the table.

She was pretty sure she’d only imagined the flash of panic that flit across his face as she made to leave, but she was definitely not imagining the hand that wrapped itself firmly around her wrist and refused to let go. “Your lower lip,” he said in a rush, pulling her a step towards him.

She turned to meet his eyes and gave him her best annoyed look. “What about it?” 

He swallowed and said, “You’s got a scar there. Just in the corner.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Have you been staring at my lips?”

“Ya flaps ‘em around enough,” he said, and she gasped. That was _entirely_ unfair—he’d done almost all the talking since they’d met; all she did was ask a few questions and wait for him to spill.

She pulled her wrist out of his grip and shoved her hand into the pocket of her designer jeans. “Go insult someone else,” she said, and tossed her head so he could get a good view of her glossy, beautiful hair, which he would never be allowed to touch. (She tried not to think about whether he even wanted to touch it in the first place, or whether she wanted him to want to, or what all that might mean….) 

“Wait,” he called after her, and she thought he sounded a bit desperate. “I—I’m sorry. I, uh, I—I just noticed it, is all,” he said.

“Sure, whatever,” she said, and kept on walking. He must have jogged after her, though, because she felt his hand on her shoulder just moments later, and then he was standing in front of her, his expression uncharacteristically vulnerable, his chest heaving a little too much for the short distance he’d just covered. 

“Is there a story there?” He asked, and this time she was sure—he was actually nervous.

She softened. “Yeah,” she said, her voice kind. He relaxed and dropped his hand from her shoulder; she tried not to lament its loss. They stood in silence for few seconds as she waited for him to continue, but somehow he seemed unable to say anything at all. Her eyes flicked from his full lips back to his worried hazel eyes, and she finally took pity on him. “Do you want to hear it?” She asked.

He shot her a grateful, tentative smile, and nodded rapidly. 

“It’ll cost you a lunch,” she said, raising an eyebrow and trying to look stern.

He grinned. “See ya next week,” he said, and disappeared into the crowd.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Game theory / formal theory is frequently used in the study of International Relations, although generally only the Prisoner's Dilemma is introduced at the undergraduate level. Occasionally universities will offer introductory game theory classes for undergrads, but generally it's a graduate-level course.
> 
> Leave me comments! I am working on job application #45 and statistical model version #291,859,089,538 and want distractions! Pleeeeeeeeease I am begging you


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which our emotionally constipated protagonists finally loosen up a bit
> 
> Sophomoric pun intended; this is a college AU, after all

Katherine fidgeted on the steps of the Union, looking for Jack. He was ten minutes late—maybe he wasn’t coming. Maybe he’d decided she wasn’t worth the money. Lunch was a bigger ask than what he’d gotten from her so far, and she had kind of stiffed him on the chips… Just then, something smacked her in the back of the head.

“Think fast!” 

She whirled around to see Jack, grinning at her and holding a brown paper bag in one hand.

Her hands flew to her hips. “You’re supposed to say that _before_ you throw whatever the heck it is, idiot!” 

“If I’d done that, I’d’ve hit ya in the face,” he said, and then pointed down by her feet. “There’s your lunch, Pulitzer.”

She crouched to pick it up instead of bending over, silently pleased at the briefly disappointed look on his face. _Thought you were going to get a peek down my shirt, huh, Kelly?_ She thought, _Well, think again._

“Thought we could make a picnic of it,” he said, waving his bag lunch at her. “ ‘S nice weather.”

She shrugged. “Sure. Lake?”

“ ‘Kay.”

They walked the quarter mile to the lake in near silence, interrupted every so often by snatches of whistling from Jack.

“Song stuck in your head?” She asked, as they sat down in the grass.

“Nah—colors,” he said, moving a stick out from under him.

She frowned. “Colors?”

“Yeah,” he said, opening up his rumpled paper bag and taking out an orange. “Got colors stuck in my head. ‘M whistlin’ colors.”

“You’re whistling _sounds_ ,” she said, opening up the sack lunch he’d given her and taking out her own orange, a snack-sized Ziploc bag with several baby carrots, and a squashed PBJ sandwich. “Let me see your sandwich,” she said, grabbing for his lunch bag. He tried to stop her, but by the time he’d reacted she’d already snagged it and rifled through its contents. “Yours isn’t as squashed as mine,” she complained. “Probably because you didn’t throw yours into my _head_.” She switched the sandwiches out and handed the bag back to him. “Here. Enjoy eating your projectile sandwich.”

He rolled his eyes but didn’t protest, choosing instead to continue peeling his orange. They sat for a moment, Jack licking citrus juice off his fingers, Katherine crunching grimly at a carrot. She hated raw carrots.

“Your voice is yellow, you know,” Jack said, not looking up from his orange.

“Excuse me?” She paused, halfway through another dismal baby carrot.

“I meant what I said about whistlin’ colors,” he said, tossing a piece of his orange peel into the lake. “Sounds ain’t just sounds. They’s colors, too. So I was whistlin’ blue earlier. An’ when you talks, I see yellow.” 

She cocked her head and bit her lip, trying to understand. “Like… yellow comes out of my mouth? Or I turn yellow? Or… what?”

He shrugged. “ ‘S in my head, I guess? The world don’t go yellow or nothin’, but like… right here,” he said, rubbing at his forehead, “It goes diff’rent colors when I hear stuff.” He spat a few orange seeds onto the ground. “Sometimes it kinda, like, floods out my vision? But mostly it stays in my head.”

“What happens when you hear lots of sounds at once?” She asked, scooting a little closer to him and staring at his forehead, as if that would let her see the colors, too. “Is it like one of those rainbow computer screensavers?”

He laughed. “Sorta. They just… dances around t’gether? Like… when we talk in the Union, they’s always got music goin’ in the background, ya know? So I see your yellow, but then it gets cut through with green or pink or whatever color those stupid pop songs is.” He sucked at one of his sticky fingers. “They plays some real shitty music in there.”

“Did you know my voice was yellow before we got out here where it’s quiet?”

He fidgeted. “I mean… I knew it soon’s you yelled at me after I knocked you over, but I ain’t been able ta see it so clear since then on account of the noise. I can see it better out here, though. Things is peaceful right now, so your voice ain’t bein’ filtered or mixed with anythin’ else. ‘S just straight yellow.” He blushed a little then, although she wasn’t sure why. 

She shot him a sideways look and took a chance. “What kind of yellow? Is it a _nice_ yellow?”

His blush deepened, and she knew she’d guessed right. “Yeah.”

“Tell me more,” she said, giving him an encouraging smile. He stared down at the grass, and she made a noise of protest. “Oh, come on, Kelly—you can’t just tell someone their voice is a color and then not tell them exactly what it looks like!” He scrunched up his nose and popped the last piece of orange into his mouth. “Jaaaaack,” she pleaded. “I _know_ you expected follow-up questions, there’s no way I’m the first person you’ve said this to!”

He ducked his head and brushed awkwardly at his nose. “ ‘S a golden hour yellow,” he mumbled, ears bright red. 

“Yes?” She asked, leaning forward. “Go on.”

He tugged at his baseball cap and said, “ ‘S the color of when the sun filters through the clouds in late afternoon an’ lights ev’rythin’ up so no matter what it is, it looks like it’s been dipped in gold, like it’s glowin’ from the inside out, like ain’t nothin’ in the world could possibly go wrong while things is shinin’ like that…”

He coughed uncomfortably and risked a quick look at her before continuing. “ ‘S… ‘s like daffodils an’ crocuses what’s pushed their way up through the snow, ya know? They’s the bravest, most hopeful little flowers, an’ then they opens their petals an’ smile an’ ask you ta think about bein’ brave an’ hopeful, too. An’ they’s sayin’ ‘Yeah, kid, we know it’s gonna be hard, an’ we know it’s gonna hurt,’ but that yellow… it’s a promise that it’s worth it.” 

He shifted on the cold ground. “An’ when ya sees ‘em, ya thinks… ya thinks maybe things is gonna be okay. ‘Cause they’s fought through winter an’ made the world brighter, so… so maybe you can, too.” He swallowed hard and hunched his shoulders. “ ‘S yellow like that,” he said, his voice now barely above a whisper, and then he shoved the first half of his sandwich into his mouth, preventing any more questions.

Katherine smiled softly and shifted so that she was sitting cross-legged, facing him. Or, well, facing his side, anyway, because he was still pointedly closed off from her, staring out over the lake. “When I was little,” she said, “My older sister and I fought like hellcats. Punching, slapping, hair-pulling, the whole nine yards.”

Jack frowned slightly and lifted his head to look at her, a question in his eyes. 

“She was only two years older, but two years makes a big difference at that age,” Katherine continued, tossing her orange up and down. “She was faster, taller, stronger, smarter, prettier—everything I wanted to be. I _adored_ her. But I was her nuisance kid sister, and the only way I could think to get her attention was by being as horrible as possible. I’d scribble all over her drawings, I’d cut the hair off her favorite dolls, I’d wake up in the middle of the night and steal her stuffed animals so I could sleep with them, even though I had plenty of my own.” Jack snorted, and Katherine laughed, too. “I was a pretty terrible little kid,” she admitted. “But I just wanted her to notice me. And she had to notice me when I was ruining all of her stuff, so it worked.” 

“Smart kid,” Jack said, his voice wry. 

Katherine nodded. “I was. I needed more interaction and more attention and more challenging work than I was getting, and I asked for that in all the wrong ways.” She poked at the ground, watching a spider scramble to avoid her finger. “One time,” she said with a giggle, “My parents forced me to eat peas at dinner. I _hated_ peas, but they made me eat every last bite. It wasn’t really a big deal, but I was so angry about it that, once everyone was gone and I was clearing the table, I took the leftover peas and smashed them down into the toes of my parents’ work shoes. Far enough that they couldn’t see them, of course. They never suspected a thing; the next morning, they shoved their toes right into those squashy peas and screamed bloody murder. I paid for it, naturally, because they knew immediately that it was me, but oh, the shrieks!” Even now, all those years later, she couldn’t help but laugh. “It was fantastic. Worth every spanking and the two weeks of meals I had to eat alone, locked in my room.”

“I wish I’d seen that,” Jack said, stretching his left leg out in front of him so it was no longer hunched up and forming a barrier between the two of them.

“You’d have loved it,” she said wistfully, and tucked an auburn curl behind her ear. “Anyway, that’s the kind of kid I was, and my sister hated me. Not hard to see why.” She smirked, doubtless recalling other youthful pranks. “Well, one day I did something so awful—I don’t remember what, I wish I did—that she just… _lost_ it. We’d always been physical, but this time was different. She really went for it—throwing things, shoving me onto the floor, kicking, biting…” Katherine rubbed at her neck, a little embarrassed. “Anyway, she had this glass prism—one of those things you can hold up to the light and make rainbows with, you know? And she picked it up and she just… hurled it at me. Perfect shot, pointy end first, directly into my face.” Jack cringed, and Katherine thumbed absently at the corner of her mouth. 

“It sliced me right open,” she said, tugging at her lower lip. “Lots of blood, screaming, tears, a trip to the ER, stitches… You know the drill.” Jack nodded, wincing. Katherine began rolling the orange across her thigh. “It changed everything between us—we were thick as thieves after that,” she said, sounding inexplicably sad. “Practically inseparable. You’d never see one of us without the other. We still got into plenty of trouble,” she said, smiling faintly, “But from then on we got in trouble _together_ , for things we’d done to amuse or protect each other, not for things we’d done to hurt each other for no good reason.” She took a deep breath and set the orange on the grass. “So it’s a turning point scar,” she said, straightening up to look him dead in the eyes. “And I love it, because it marks the day I met my best friend.” 

“That was a happy story,” Jack said, ripping tufts of grass out of the earth. “But you seem blue.” 

She attempted a smile, failed, and closed her eyes, slumping slightly to rest her forehead on one hand. “Yeah,” she said.

“Are you two not friends anymore?” He asked, and she didn’t need to open her eyes to know that he’d moved closer.

“I don’t know how to answer that,” she said, giving a short huff of a laugh. “I mean, she… I…” Katherine shook her head against her hand. “She’s dead.”

“I’m sorry,” Jack said, and she felt the press of his fingers resting gently, hesitantly, on her knee.

She looked up. “Thanks.”

He nodded and squeezed her knee.

“And thanks for not saying you know how I feel,” she said. “That’s the worst.”

“It really is,” he said, fervently. “And I hear it all the damn time. Makes me wanna scream.”

“Me, too,” Katherine said, a genuine smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “People are terrible, aren’t they?”

Jack laughed. “They really are,” he said, his eyes crinkling in amusement. “Shit, I fuckin’ hate people.”

“Same,” Katherine said, and they grinned at each other for a moment or two, feeling unexpectedly warm and safe there on the edge of the lake. Then she saw something unidentifiable flash across his face, and he took his hand off of her knee. She started to move to put it back, then kicked herself mentally for wanting that, then blushed and stared at the ground for feeling… well, whatever this was. She wasn’t sure what it was, exactly, but she kind of hated it. It was confusing, and it hurt, but—her spiraling train of thought was interrupted by a slightly shaky word from Jack.

“Katherine?” 

She jerked her head up, confused. He’d never used her first name before.

He licked his lips and swallowed hard and then she could’ve _sworn_ she heard him whisper _ah, fuck it_ , and then she definitely did hear him say, “Your scar… can I touch it?”

Her brows still tightly knit, she stared at him, completely baffled. “I mean… sure? I don’t know why you’d want to, but…” She shrugged. “I don’t mind.”

She tilted her head up and sideways so he’d have an easier time finding the lower right corner of her mouth. She looked off into the distance as he leaned in closer, bracing herself for the press of his calloused fingers. _I hope his hands aren’t still sticky with orange juice_ , she thought, and then she gasped—the warmth at the corner her mouth wasn’t the rough brush of his hands, but rather the soft, tender touch of his lips.

“What—” She managed, twisting her head to say—well, something, she wasn’t sure what, but she’d come up with something—but he took advantage of that slight movement to cover her lips fully with his, turning a short liberty into something deep and slow and achingly _right_. “Oh,” she breathed, and he flicked his tongue against her now-open mouth, asking for permission. She obliged, and soon they’d deepened the kiss well beyond chaste and on into sensual, and he’d laid one hand on the side of her face and wound the other into her hair to cradle the back of her head, and she’d wrapped her arms around his neck and was unconsciously tugging him ever-closer, her body confessing what her brain would not. They kissed and kissed and kissed, each unwilling to pause for fear of stopping something they’d never know how to restart. 

 _He smells like home_ , she thought; _or, wait, no—he smells the way home would if it were somewhere I actually wanted to be_. She moaned a little at that, and then she moaned again as her noise prompted his kisses to grow harder and hungrier, his hands working their way down her sides to slip under her shirt. She knew she ought to stop this, to stop _him_ , because they’d met only a few weeks ago, and she wasn’t the sort of girl who did this, and she was _certainly_ not the sort of girl who did this with a near stranger in the middle of the afternoon in _public_ , but instead she simply slid one arm from around his neck and brought it up under her top, guiding his left hand to cover her breast.

This time it was his turn to moan, and she felt a thrill of triumph at his pleasure and then a twinge of excitement as he slid his thumb under her bra and brushed across her skin. She pushed her chest forward, wanting him to do it again, hoping that if she were obvious enough then he’d bring his right hand up soon, too. 

“Fuck,” he whispered into her mouth, pressing even closer and drawing his thumb back across her breast, and Katherine felt a spark of bliss that warmed her and terrified her and broke the spell.  

“Shit,” she said, jerking backwards and looking at him, wild-eyed. “I—I have to go,” she stammered, yanking her top down and scrabbling for her backpack. She shot him one last look as she flung her backpack onto her shoulders, and as soon as she did, she wished she hadn’t. His hazel eyes were blown wide, those beautifully full lips were wet and swollen, and the dazed expression on his face was so vulnerable that it hit her like a sock to the jaw. _Oh, no, Katherine, what have you done to him…_ She turned to run, feeling like she’d just kicked a puppy. She pressed a hand to her mouth to muffle a sob and tried to block out Jack’s voice calling her back.

“Katherine?” He clearly hadn’t processed her actions yet, that she’d kissed him and encouraged him and then run off for absolutely no reason at all, and she hated herself all the more for causing him the pain he was about to feel. _You’re terrible, Katherine, why do you always ruin things, you’re an idiot, you wreck everything, get out of here, go_ …

“Katherine, wait!” He called, rising to his feet and watching her leave. “Katherine, I…” He ran one hand through his hair and clenched the other into a fist as she disappeared over the rise of the hill without so much as a backwards glance.

“Aw, _fuck_ ,” he said, and then he let out a yell and kicked her uneaten orange into the lake before throwing everything else from the lunch into the water, too. Three ducks resting on the riverbank flapped their wings in anticipation and paddled over to investigate, and Jack roared in fury. “I hope you fucking  _choke_ , you flying rats!” He crouched down to howl at the world, and then, once he'd screamed himself out, he looked up to see the orange he'd given her bobbing slowly away from the shore. He dashed his arm angrily across his eyes and sat to watch the ducks, who were happily gobbling up the remains of Katherine’s sandwich. He shook his head as the ducks nibbled what they could and snatched the bread away from each other. Trembing slightly, Jack dropped his head into his hands and tried not to cry as the sandwich grew smaller and smaller. “It wasn’t meant for you,” he said, his voice cracking. “I made it for _her_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH NO KATHERINE WHAT DID YOU DO (I have no clue how to fix this, and if you ask me what happens next I can honestly say that I don't know :( )
> 
> I really need to just list the number of chapters as 'unknown' bc this thing has gotten away from me and I don't know if I'll ever be able to rein it back in 
> 
> (HA, as if I even wanted to rein it back in-- I'm having way too much fun writing it to want to do that!)
> 
> Yes, this AU Jack has synesthesia :)
> 
> again please comment, I am 100% fine but I still hate everything today <333


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which progress is erased.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tell a quick painful story of Jack's in this chapter; if physical abuse and referenced alcoholism is triggering to you, skip the paragraph that starts "Foster home number six" and you should be fine. Please holler at me if you want other details.

Katherine went to the Union after her journalism class the next week even though she hadn’t seen or heard from Jack since then—not that she’d expected to. In the three and a half years she’d been at this school, she’d never seen him before until he’d literally run into her last month, and they’d never exchanged contact info, either, simply relying on the other person to show up as promised. She didn’t want to cause a scene by staking out the art building, and a student directory search had revealed four John Kellys, two Jack Kellys, and a Jonathan Kelly (also a Jonathon Kelly, but she refused to believe he spelled his name that way), so email was out. She just hoped this worked. She wasn’t going to track him down if he didn’t want to be found, but she prayed he’d show up. 

He didn’t.

Katherine sat at a table by the coffee shop for hours, nursing a cappuccino and lying to herself that she was doing homework, she _was_ , just watch her, she was definitely doing the reading for her Liberation Theology class while keeping both eyes on the traffic in and out of the Union. Come dinnertime she sighed and gave up, snapping her unread textbook closed and heading back to her dorm room. 

She was back the next week, though. The deadlines for several writing competitions were coming up, and she really wanted to use her profile piece as part of her portfolio, but she didn’t feel comfortable doing that without his okay. He wouldn’t find out she’d done it unless she won (unlikely) and he somehow looked up the results of some obscure college journalism award ( _highly_ unlikely), but a promise was a promise.

This time she didn’t even try to do homework; she knew it was a lost cause. She snagged a table right by the entrance, popped her earbuds in to catch up on podcasts (heck if she was going to sit here doing nothing all afternoon), and settled in to wait. Their usual meeting time came and went, and dinnertime came and went, and, hearing her stomach growl, she decided fine, this was getting ridiculous, but—she’d give it another half hour before calling it quits.

Not five minutes later, Jack walked in with a friend. They entered through the far set of doors, the ones all the way across the atrium, so she was sure he hadn’t seen her, but she recognized him immediately. The broad set of his shoulders, his slightly stocky build, that revoltingly battered baseball cap—it was definitely him. She popped out of her seat and rifled through her backpack for the copy of her article that she’d printed out for him. It took her a second to zip the pocket back up because her hands were a little bit sweaty, but soon enough she’d slung her bag on and was dashing across the Union, trying to catch up to him.

“Jack!” She called. “Jack, wait up!”

He jerked his head around at the sound of her voice, frowning as soon as he saw her. His friend, a tall, lanky boy who looked like he ought to be out captaining the debate team rather than hanging out with Jack, bent over to say something, and Jack responded with a mutter. Katherine was still too far away to hear anything, but she figured it was probably something about her. Not something flattering, either, given the wide-eyed expression on the face of Jack’s friend, which quickly transitioned into a hostile glare. The taller boy whispered something in Jack’s ear and took a step forward, but Jack waved him off.

“Nah, I got this,” she heard him say, and then she was standing in front of him, facing down two college boys with dark scowls and arms folded across their chests.

“You’ve got some nerve—” The taller boy began, but Jack interrupted by jerking his head sideways and motioning off to some chairs by the wall.

Jack took a step closer to Katherine and, looking her dead in the eye, said, “Thanks, Dave, but really, I got this. Give us a minute, wouldja?” The taller boy raised an eyebrow, and Jack jerked his head sideways again. Dave shrugged and retreated, leaving Jack to handle Katherine on his own.

“I finished the article,” she said, holding it out to him with damp hands.

“What kind of reporter takes a whole fuckin’ month to write a story?” He asked, his arms still crossed. “News flash, Pulitzer: No one gives a shit about things that happened in the past. The world’s moved on.”

She flushed, biting back retorts about how long it took to write a good investigative journalistic piece, and how if he was so good at game theory then she knew he knew that sometimes the past mattered _immensely_ , and how it _hadn’t_ taken her a month to write this article, she just hadn’t shown it to him before now, but… This was not the time. So instead she just flapped the article in his face and said, “This is some of my best work, and I can’t submit it to competitions until you let me. So let me.” 

His eyes narrowed. “Whad’ya mean, ya can’t submit it until I let you?”

She blinked. “I promised you I’d get your approval before showing it to anyone other than Professor Larkin.”

Now it was his turn to be caught slightly off-guard. “You’s actually holdin’ to that?” 

“Of course! I know I really… Well.” She coughed. “I know I’m kind of awful sometimes, but I wouldn’t lie to you _._ ” She wasn’t sure how offended she was allowed to be that he’d doubted her, given the way she’d treated him two weeks ago, but whatever. This was her journalistic integrity they were talking about here, not her romantic aptitude. “Besides,” she said, testing the waters a bit, “You said spit-shakes were sacred, and I make it a point to avoid blasphemy.”

His lips twitched, and although he didn’t give her the smile she wanted, he did take the article. “Fine. I’ll read it.”

“Thank you,” she said, releasing a breath she hadn’t even realized she’d been holding. “Really, Jack, thank you, I just—I mean—um. My email is on there, so just let me know, and, um… Yeah. Thank you. Like, times a million. I, uh…” She bit her lip and wished she didn’t look so nervous. “Thanks.”

“Yeah, yeah, I heard ya the first time,” he said, and started to leave.

“Wait!” Katherine said, and although Jack didn’t turn back around, he did stop. “There’s… there’s a scar on the back of your head,” she said timidly, her eyes fixed on an angry, four-inch zigzag at the base of his skull. “Will you… um… will you tell me the story?”

Jack clapped a hand over his scar and groaned. “Gaaaah, stupid Albert!” He shook his head and muttered, “For fuck’s sake, that’s the last time I let him give me a haircut.” Katherine made an inquisitive noise, and Jack swung around to face her. “The fuckin’ moron always does the razor settin’ wrong an’ buzzes it too close,” he explained, “An’ then nosy shits like you start askin’ me questions I don’t wanna answer.” 

“I’m not asking you to give me the story for free,” she said staunchly, refusing to back down.

He snorted. “This one costs enough to dent even a Pulitzer’s budget,” he warned.

“Name your price,” she said, setting her shoulders.

“Tickets ta see Kendrick Lamar at Madison Square Garden,” he said, his response so quick that she figured he must have been tossing this idea around for several days. 

“Fine,” she said, and then his eyes narrowed, and she kicked herself. She’d answered too quickly. When would she ever learn? 

“Floor seats,” he added. “ _Center_ section. An’ if it ain’t in the first five rows, it ain’t good enough.”

She winced and rubbed unconsciously at her cuticles. “I…”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he said, and started back towards Dave.

“Done!” She said, her heart flipping as she said it. Her parents paid for her education and essentials, but something like this? She was on her own. Still, if she took on some extra tutoring sessions and scrounged up some freelance work, she could make it up in… well, she didn’t want to think about it. She could make it up _eventually_ , and that was all that mattered.

“ _Two_ tickets,” he said, his back still to her.

She squeezed her eyes shut and tried not to listen to the sensible voice in her head, which had been screaming frantically ever since… well, ever since he walked through those doors. “Done.” 

She heard him chuckle and opened her eyes to see him walking away. “ ‘Til next week, then, Pulitzer.”

 

*

 

Professor Larkin held them a little long next week, and Katherine, who was normally the one rolling her eyes at the kids who felt they absolutely had to start packing up to leave five full minutes before class was even _supposed_ to end, had real trouble not growling in frustration as the clock hit 1:30 and Larkin had yet to show signs of stopping. Finally, she’d had enough—at three minutes past, she jammed all of her things into her backpack and bolted out the door, ignoring her favorite professor’s judgmental stare.

She raced down the sidewalk and pattered up the steps to the Union, bursting through the doors so forcefully that she almost crashed into the person in front of her, who turned to give her a nasty glare. Whatever. Let them judge; she had more important things on her mind.

Jack ended up being twenty minutes late, and she ground her teeth as he sauntered through the doors, spotted her, and smirked like a cat at the slightly wild look on her face. “Somethin’ got ya worried, Pulitzer?” He asked innocently, slinging his backpack onto the table and taking a swig of the Red Bull in his hand.

“No,” she snapped, resisting the urge to kick him under the table.

He laughed and dragged over an empty chair so he could prop his feet up. Then he spotted the Ticketmaster envelope lying in front of her, and his eyes gleamed. Reaching across the table, he said, “Ya got ‘em?” 

She smacked his hand away and said, “Yes. Story first, payment second.” 

He rubbed his hand and frowned. “I ain’t talkin’ ‘til you shows me which seats.”

She ripped the envelope open and brandished the tickets at him. “Floor seats, center section, third row. Now talk, Kelly.” 

He grinned and leaned back in his chair. “Nice work, Pulitzer. I didn’t think ya could swing it.” She glared, and he shrugged. “Okay, then. So.” He settled in to tell his story, and as he did so Katherine saw his body language shift and harden; it was as if he were switching himself out for a completely different person. The quick, jokey, self-satisfied Jack was gone in a few short seconds, replaced by the detached, matter-of-fact Jack she’d seen when he’d told her what had happened to his hand.

“Foster home number six, Alphabet City, age fifteen. Sharon got a new boyfriend, boyfriend didn’t like me. Summer evenin’, boyfriend a little drunker’n usual, accused me of lookin’ at Sharon the wrong way. Said he’d kept his mouth shut ‘til now, but juvenile delinquents like me had ta be handled early, put in their place afore they had time ta hurt someone for real. Said ain’t no one must’ve put me in my place yet, an’ he was sorry, but it had ta be done, ‘cause if he didn’t do it then someone meaner’n him would. Edged toward the fire escape, he got madder, knocked me around a bit. Got me hard enough I lost my balance. Caught my head on the corner of Sharon’s coffee table on the way down. Who the fuck buys glass furniture. Fuckin’ terrible idea, glass furniture. Blacked out, woke up, caught a cab, ER staff patched me up, on ta foster home number seven. Tickets, please,” he said, stretching out his hand.

Katherine blinked, disoriented from his monotone, rapid-fire delivery of something like… like _that_. “What?”

“The _tickets_ ,” he said, motioning for her to give him the envelope. “Hand ‘em over.”

She took a deep, shaky breath and pushed the tickets across the table. “Are you…”

“Don’t,” he warned, taking the tickets and shoving them in the front pocket of his hoodie.

“Okay,” she said, voice still a little wobbly. 

An unfamiliar male voice cut through the din of the Union. “Jack!”

Jack’s head snapped around, giving Katherine another stomach-churning look at the back of his head. And even though she knew the scar was exactly the same as it had been last week, that it was no uglier or angrier than the week before, that it was simply a jagged stretch of reddened skin, seeing it now made her stomach roil. For the first time ever, she wished he was wearing that damn hat. 

“Adam!” Jack called out, his face lighting up. “Be right there!” He waved across the Union at a tall, attractive boy and then bent to grab his backpack.

“Wait,” Katherine said, “Where do you want to meet?”

Jack paused in the middle of yanking his ballcap out of his backpack. “For what?”

“For the concert,” she said, a little confused.

A smile spread across his face at that, but this one was vicious and triumphant; nothing like the sincere one he’d just given to… to _Adam_ , whoever the hell _he_ was. “Thought you were goin’ with me, huh, trust fund baby?” He asked, adjusting the straps of his backpack and pulling his hat onto his head. “Nope,” he said with a laugh. “I just needed you for the fundin’ part of this operation, that’s all.”

Her stupid face reddened in shame even as she begged it not to, and the words spilled out before she could stop them: “But there are two tickets.” 

Jack feigned shock. “You can count!” She flushed scarlet, and he laid a hand on top of hers and squeezed. “I’m so proud of you, Pulitzer, countin’ all the way to two! Let’s see if you’s smart enough ta understand this next bit, too, yeah? That handsome fucker over there is Adam,” he said, lifting his hand from hers and gesturing to the boy waiting by the entrance. “He loves Kendrick Lamar. _Loves_ him. Thinks the man hung the moon. So,” he said, slipping the tickets back out of his hoodie to flash in front of Katherine, “I’m about… oh, 100% sure that if I hand him one of these, I’ll be gettin’ both a hot date ta this concert  _an’_ a shit-ton of thank you sex afterwards.” Jack wiggled his eyebrows and added, “An’ I dunno if you know this, Pulitzer, but thank you sex? ‘S good stuff. I highly recommend that you give it a shot." He paused, putting on a falsely thoughtful expression. "If ya c’n get anyone ta feel grateful ta you about anythin’, that is. But if ya can, then do it. Might make ya less of a frigid bitch.” He winked, stuck the tickets back in his hoodie, and left. “See ya, Pulitzer,” he called.

Katherine sat frozen at the table, her throat tight and her eyes welling up with tears. _You heard him, Katherine; you’re a frigid bitch,_ she told herself sternly. _And frigid bitches do_ not _cry in public. So get it together._

If only it were that easy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I dunno, guys. Hope you liked it. 
> 
> I looked up ticket prices to that concert, and the ones Jack's asking for are going for about $700-$800 a pop at the moment.
> 
> (Feeling better. PMS is a heckuva ride, geez. Thanks to all of you for being so sweet to me yesterday! Sorry for repaying you with this! <3 :) )
> 
> Happy Valentine's Day! Scream at me, please! <333


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which things get softer. At least for now.

“All I’m saying, Katherine, is that journalism is a dying profession. You’re smart enough to do whatever you want—why on earth are you so set on _this_?”

Katherine dug her nails into her palm and tried not to lose her temper. “Because it’s what I want.”

“You can do so much better.” 

“You were a journalist for thirty years, Dad!”

“Which is why you should _listen_ to me when I say you can do better! It’s not the life I want for my daughter!”

“What about what _I_ want, huh?” She set down her forkful of peas, tossed her napkin onto the table, and stood up to leave. “Why can’t you just support me for once? Why can’t you just want me to be _happy_?” 

Joseph Pulitzer whipped his own napkin from his lap, pushed his chair back, and braced his hands on the table to stare his daughter down. “Happy, Katherine? All I’m supposed to want for you is _happiness_? Is that really what you think life is about?”

She felt the blood beginning to pound in her head. She was _this_ close to losing it, and so was he, and she had so dearly wanted to get through one Sunday lunch this semester without a screaming match, but here they went again… “How stupid do you think I am, Dad? Of _course_ I don’t think life is about happiness. Happiness is pretty far down on the list, actually. But money? Money is even _farther_ down. And so is fame. And comfort. And you know what, Dad?” She leaned over the table to get right in his face. “Living for your parents instead of yourself? The way you so desperately want me to? That doesn’t even make the list.” 

“Katherine Ethel,” her father said, his voice right on the edge of snapping.

Katherine knew she shouldn’t, but… “Yes, Joseph? What can I do for you?”

That sent him over the edge. “You are throwing your future away, Katherine! You are brilliant, poised, and your work ethic is astounding—you would be _slumming_ it in journalism! I refuse to support this foolish, foolish career path, and I will never understand how such an intelligent young woman could make such a disastrous mistake!” 

“It’s not a mistake!” Katherine yelled, spittle flying from her mouth. “It’s a career, Dad! It’s a career where I can use all of that intelligence and poise and dedication to  _help_ people, to actually do some _good_ in this world! I don’t get it—that’s something that _you_ modeled for me, and here I am trying to put it into practice, and all you can do is scream at me about how I’m screwing everything up!”

“ _Because you are!”_ Pulitzer roared, slamming his hands on the table. “For once in your life, Katherine, for _once_ , can you please just _listen_ to me? We have been through this a million times—when are you going to learn that I know what’s best?” 

She growled in frustration. “When are you going to start _trusting_ me?” 

“When you start showing some _sense_!” He ground his teeth and narrowed his eyes. “Do me a favor, Katherine—look at your life. Can you honestly tell me that your achievements are a result of your own good choices, hmm?” She scoffed, but he continued. “That semester abroad sophomore year—who do you think made sure you were accepted before anyone else? The prestigious internship with _The Times_ —who do you think pulled the strings to secure it for you? The awards you’re sure to win at graduation—whose last name is making it very clear that you are the only logical pick?”  

Katherine felt as if her head were about to split in two, but at least she wasn’t crying. _Frigid bitch skills coming in handy_ , she thought to herself, and held her ground. “You… you didn’t. You don’t mean that. You _can’t_ have—”

“Can’t I?” Pulitzer said, his voice low. “Go on, Katherine. Ask around. Ask around, and you’ll realize that without me, you are nothing but a pretty vessel full of wasted potential. I know what’s best for you, Katherine Ethel, and the sooner you realize that, the better.”

She felt as if she’d been socked in the gut, but somehow she managed to keep her balance and leave the townhouse with her head held high. After a short internal struggle about whether or not she was being too extravagant, she took a cab back to school instead of calling an Uber or catching the F-train. You could ugly cry in cabs. Those guys had seen everything, no way they were going to be fazed by a bawling undergrad.

She’d gotten through the choking snot and heaving sobs part of her meltdown by the time she set foot on campus, but she still had to navigate the impending series of silent tears, gasping breaths, and paralyzing emptiness of having her father undercut the value of everything she’d accomplished. In other words, half the fun was still ahead, and she didn’t want to face anyone while she dealt with it. Which meant that heading back to her apartment was out. Katherine loved her three roommates dearly, but they invited their entire Methodist Bible Study group over for lunch and games every Sunday, and she was not about to walk through their happy hubbub in order to get to her room. Particularly not with her face all blotchy and her eyes all stinging and swollen.

So she headed to the library. The children’s lit section had become a haven for Katherine over the years; not only was it nice to check in on old friends like _Corduroy_ , _The BFG_ , and _Blueberries for Sal_ , but it was also essentially a private space on a public campus. Most of the other students didn’t even know that the school _had_ a children’s lit section, let alone where to find it, which made it the perfect place to hide from everyone and everything. The perfect place to hide when you felt like your world was crashing down around your ears. The perfect place for her right now. 

She avoided seeing anyone she knew on the walk to the library, thank heavens, which meant she was home free. The library itself was almost eerily deserted on Sunday afternoons, and today was not an exception. She sighed in relief as she made it to the children’s section without incident and pulled out a few picture books to read, flipping open Ezra Jack Keats’ _The Snowy Day_ and settling into her favorite overstuffed chair. She barely made it past the first four pages before breaking down again, crying quietly into her hands. She pulled her legs up onto the seat and curled sideways, pressing her face into the fabric of the chair and wishing that… that things were different. That her father hadn’t meddled. That her father hadn’t _told_ her he’d meddled. That she didn’t _care_ that her father meddled. That she didn’t care about having a career. That she didn’t care about being happy. That she didn’t care about anything at all.

“Hey, Pulitzer,” came a soft, familiar voice, and she froze. She debated just keeping her face squashed into the chair—maybe she could pretend she hadn’t heard him? Or maybe if she kept her face hidden then she could pretend she was someone else? But… she’d already gasped at his greeting, and he clearly knew it was her. So no. She lifted her head slightly, opening her swollen eyes just enough to take in the highly unwelcome sight of Jack Kelly, damn baseball cap and all.

“Fuck off,” she said, still half-curled against the side of the chair, _The Snowy Day_ slipping off her lap. 

“You look like shit,” he said, crouching in front of the chair so that she could look down at him instead of craning her neck upwards. 

“Yeah, well, you _are_ a shit,” she said, hating herself for starting to cry again. _Frigid bitch, you’re a frigid bitch, thank you sex might make ya less of a frigid bitch,_ _I just needed you for the fundin’ part of this operation, frigid bitch, you frigid bitch.…_

“Whoa now,” he said, reaching out a hand to rub her knee gently. “That’s true, but I don’t think that’s what’s goin’ on here. You was cryin’ before I showed up. Need ta talk?”

“Don’t _touch_ me!” She snapped, shoving his hand away. “Don’t you dare—” She choked on a cough just then, and he started to reach to pat her back, but then he caught himself and rocked back to balance on the balls of his feet again.

“Okay,” he said, completely unruffled. “Okay. You’re right. I’m a little shit. I’m a complete ass. I was awful an’ I hurt ya an’ I owe you a free punch. Anywhere ya like. Even in the nuts.” 

She coughed through another sob and then raised an eyebrow. “Just one?”

“Okay, fine, a free pummel session. Five minutes of punchin’ at me an’ I’ll just take it.” He looked at her hopefully, thinking maybe she was ready to respond to humor, and deflating a little when he realized that she wasn’t. So he tried again, his voice hesitant. “Look, Pulitzer. I… I know I was real shitty ta you last time we talked. I mean… I was _beyond_ shitty. I… I was hurtin’, so I wanted you ta hurt, too. ‘Cause I… I felt like I… I mean, it just…” He sighed and shifted to sit cross-legged on the floor. “Nah. You know what, never mind. It don’t matter why. Ain’t no excusin’ it. I screwed up, an’ I’m sorry. Ya don’t hafta forgive me, an' I'll understand if ya don't, but I do apologize.”

Her eyes widened, and, encouraged by any response at all, he said, “Hey, I got some news that might make ya feel better, though—that date I stiffed ya on? It was a fuckin’ nightmare.” She blinked, and he nodded. “For real. Turns out Adam’s a jerk. Hot as hell, but mean as sin. An’ I didn’t even get ta enjoy the hot part of him all that much, either, ‘cause guess what—he’s a shitty kisser.” She gave a weak laugh, and he warmed to his theme. “Oh, yeah. Fuckin’ terrible. Tongue like a slug. You know the type—kinda slimy an’ squashy an’ all ya c’n do is stand there wond’rin why the hell ya ever thought it was a good idea to put somethin’ like _that_ in ya mouth.” 

Katherine smiled with her eyes, and Jack winked. “Ta give him credit, though, he’s a decent lay. He’s got this trick where—” 

“ _Jack!_ ” She yelped, waving her hands frantically to try to stop him from talking, and, in her agitation, slipping out of the chair and onto the floor in front of him. 

“Careful there, girlie!” He said, catching her and slowing her fall. “Don’t wantcha ta rip these tights, too, not when ya’s gone ta the trouble of findin’ a new lavender pair an’ all.”

She felt her brain stutter over that casual line. He remembered what color _tights_ she was wearing when he’d knocked her over? And gosh, his hands were strong and warm and… _Stop it, Katherine! Stop it._ His hands made it hard for her to abandon that line of thought, though… Really, did all boys have hands this nice? They couldn’t, right? Surely not? 

_Stop it, Katherine, stop it stop it stop it (but oh my gosh he’s so strong)—oh, thank heavens, he’s moved his hands! Wait, no! Dammit, he’s moved his hands…._

As soon as he lowered her to the floor, he let go of her sides and settled back into his tailor sit. “Don’t worry, Pulitzer, I was just playin’. We didn’t get that far.” He looked down at his scuffed Converse and then back up at her. “I realized ‘bout halfway through the concert that I wasn’t int’rested, somehow. Not even as a distraction. An’ he… I… yeah. Tongue slug was as far as it went.” He brushed his nose and looked off sideways.

“Right,” she said, her voice wobbly. Hearing herself sound so weak, so useless, set her off again. “You know,” she said, her breaths uneven as she fought to get the words out around the tears, “I feel like I sure… I sure cry a lot for… for a frigid bitch.” 

He whipped back to face her, his expression anguished. “Fuck, girlie, I shoulda never said that, you ain’t any a that, that description‘s the farthest thing from the truth, I…” He reached out, intending to wipe the tears from her cheeks, but then he winced and pulled back just in time. He made an apologetic gesture and wedged his hands under his thighs, frustrated with himself for forgetting yet again.

Instead, he took a deep breath and said, “I, uh… I wantcha ta know that I... I been talkin’ ta someone lately. I'm tryin’ ta figure out why I’m like this, ya know? Tryin’ ta do better.” He swallowed hard and said, “That… that look in your eyes when I said that to ya, I just… I don’t ever wanna hurt anyone that way again. I was… it was…” He tugged his hat off and smoothed his hair down so he could pull the cap on backwards. She could see his eyes more clearly now that they weren't shaded by the brim, and she was surprised to find that his gaze was steady. He held her eyes with a sort of determined honesty she hadn’t seen from him before, and she realized with a jolt that she had no idea what he was going to say next.

“Look, I… once I calmed down an’ thought about what I did ta ya, I knew I had ta… that I… I knew I needed help." He exhaled deeply and shook his head. "Once I thought about it, really thought about it, I knew that I... what I... what I did ta ya, it..." He growled at his inability to find the words and ground his teeth. "Fuckin' hell, Pulitzer! I mean, what the fuck was I _thinkin'_? Who  _does_ that? If I were just... if I were fuckin' _normal_ 'steada fucked  _up_ , I... _"_ He punched his thigh and frowned. "I dunno, Pulitzer, 's just that... I mean... normal people—normal people don't... they just don't _do_  things like that, ya know?" His eyes darkened. "Bein' that shitty? Ta someone who ain't done nothin' but change their mind on somethin' they's allowed ta change their mind about? I mean, who _does_ that? What kinda sick fuck _does_ that?" He rubbed at his eyes and slumped his shoulders. "I do, apparently. Fuck. _I_ do that, an' it... it ain't normal. It ain't right.”

He sighed. “It’s like there’s this demon inside me that just… I just do these _things_ , ya know? An’ I... I realized I ain’t got the foggiest idea of how ta keep myself from doin’ ‘em. But I want to. So I...” He paused and picked at one of his scraggly shoelaces. “I been goin’ ta… um. Uh. Well. I been talkin’ ta this guy, ya know? An’ I kinda fuckin’ hate it—like,  _fuck_ , Pulitzer, I _hate_ it, it fuckin' _sucks_ —but I been learnin’ a lot ‘bout… well, you know. ‘Bout emotions an’ shit.” Her mouth twitched at the description, and he gave a tentative almost-smile back.

Heartened by her reaction, his voice regained some of its usual animation. “Oh, it’s a _trip_ , Pulitzer, I’m tellin’ ya. The names he’s got f’r shit—healthy copin’ mech’nisms? Repressed mem’ries? Post-Traumatic-Stress Disorder?” He shrugged. “I think he’s makin’ half of it up ta make himself sound smart, but… he’s onta some stuff, too, so…” He rubbed at a worn spot in his jeans. “Right. Well. Anyway. Talkin' ta him, I realized that... well, that I... that I need f’r ya ta know this, Pulitzer. What I did ta ya, what I said ta ya—I done it ‘cause I knew it’d hurt ya. Not ‘cause ya deserved it, an' not 'cause it’s true. ‘Cause... 'cause ya didn't, an' it ain’t. I mean, what I... it’s… you’re… I…” He bit his lip. “I’m so sorry.”

She nodded and hid her face in her hands again, part of her wishing she hadn’t told him not to touch her. A hug would be really nice. Things went silent then, aside from the sounds of Katherine’s slowing sniffles, and she was sure he’d gone when she felt something brush against her hand. She startled backwards into a leg of the chair and dropped her hands to see Jack offering her a tissue, his concern writ clear.

“Thanks,” she said, taking it and blowing her nose loudly. 

Once she’d finished, he scrunched his face a little and ventured, “People?”

She nodded. “People.”

Jack made a sympathetic face, and then his eyes widened briefly. “Ah! Hang on a sec…” He rolled up his right sleeve in a flash, flipping his arm so Katherine could see the skin just above the inside of his elbow. “See this?” He asked, pointing to a faded scar that looked unsettlingly like teeth marks.

She nodded, mopping her eyes with the soggy tissue.

“This is an I-hate-people scar,” he said, flicking it with his index finger. “Me an’ my brother, Charlie, we were in this group home together for a while. These other kids, Oscar an’ Morris, well, they liked t’ pick on Charlie. They always did it when I wasn’t around, ‘cause I they knew I was a mean bastard who’d give ‘em what-for, but one day they slipped up an’ I caught ‘em at it.”

Jack laughed. “Fuck, the look on their faces when they realized what was about ta go down! They dropped Charlie lickety-split an’ tried to run, but the yard was walled in, so there weren’t nowhere for ‘em ta go. Fuckin’ asswipes started hollerin’ an’ runnin’ around the yard like they was in some shitty video game.” His expression grew smug. “Now that was _real_ dumb, ‘cause if they’d just ganged up on me then they’d’ve had me. Charlie was temp’rarily outta commission, an’ I weren’t big enough ta win two-on-one. But, lucky for me, they didn’t think that far ahead. I guess they was used ta messin’ with littler kids, so they lost their shit when someone their own size showed up.”

Jack grinned, a predatory smile that fit what Katherine knew of Jack much better than the compassion and openness he’d shown her shortly before. “I handled Morris first. It didn’t take long—coupla punches ta the gut, is all. He didn’t even land one back, c’n you believe it?” He made a face and scoffed. “That kid was always fuckin’ useless.” He rolled his eyes, thinking back to fucking useless Morris Delancey, who was a whiz at starting fights and a failure at finishing them. “Then I moved onta Oscar. An’ d’ya know what that asshole did ta me, Pulitzer?” She shook her head, eyes wide. “He fuckin' _bit_ me, ‘s what he did! Seized on hard with his teeth an’ worried at my arm like a fuckin’ _dog_.”

She gasped, but he was too entertained by his own story to notice. “Oh man, Charlie was crackin’ _up_ —I was yellin’ like a madman, Oscar was makin’ these muffled screamin’ noises, Morris was lyin’ in the dirt cryin’—it was a regular three ring circus, I tell ya. Snyder was so confused when he came out ta break things up, oh man, an’ ‘m pretty sure Charlie pissed himself laughin’…” He chuckled. “Anyway, now I gots perm’nent impressions of Oscar’s chompers on my arm, an’ ev’ry time I see ‘em, they remind me that I hate people, ‘cause people? People fuck with your fam’ly an’ then they bite ya.” 

Katherine tried not to smile. “That’s a pretty specific complaint to have about people, don’t you think?” She asked, amused in spite of herself.

He winked. “Maybe, but ‘s served me well so far.” She reached out to pat his knee in sympathy, and he froze, unwilling to believe that she was actually touching him. But she was. _Voluntarily_. He blushed, looking away from her hand and blinking frantically, trying to regain his composure.

He cleared his throat. “I… the real point here, though, Pulitzer, ‘s that people? People are the worst. People are the worst, an' they fuck you up inside an’ out. Every damn time.” He reached out a tentative hand and let it hover over her shoulder, waiting for a faint nod from her before rubbing her shoulder gently and giving it a reassuring squeeze. “But what really sucks is that it’s the scars you can’t see what hurt the most, an’ since can’t nobody see ‘em, ain’t nobody knows ta ask ‘bout ‘em.”

“Yeah,” she said, shifting her shoulder slightly.

“Not that I _likes_ talkin’ about that emotional shit,” he said, letting his hand drop back into his lap, “But sometimes it’s good, ya know. Ta have somebody listen an’… an’ help ya leech it out.” He bit his lower lip, shook his head, and took the plunge, racing through his next few sentences. “An’ you’s a great gal, Pulitzer, so I’m sure you’ve got loads of friends who’s real smart an’ real nice, an’ I… I know I’m just an asshole from the wrong side of the tracks who broke your trust an’ messed ya up, but if… if ya need an extra set of ears, then I’m around. Any time. Day or night. 3am. Whenever. Honest.”

“Thanks.” She quieted and looked up at him, her brown eyes still a little fragile. “What do I owe you for the story?”

He looked confused for a second, and then he laughed. “That one’s on the house.”

Katherine tried not to look disappointed, but she must have failed, because she saw him scan her face, soften, and give her a smile that, had it come from anyone else, she would have described as tender. He started to reach out to her again, whipped his hand back to grip at the side of his thigh instead, and said, a little bit nervously, “Um. Dinner with me?” 

She gave him a small smile and hoped he could tell from her eyes that she wanted this more than she was capable of showing. “Okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you were wondering, Jack is in the children's lit section because he's taking an illustration class and needed some references for a project. :)
> 
> Also, K is definitely good enough to have earned those things all on her own, but Pulitzer didn't believe in her, so he meddled, and now they'll never know.
> 
> Please scream at me, small children! <3333


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which nothing much happens, so you get a break from the angst :)

Dinner went well; both of them were on their best behavior in terms of reining in their sharp tongues, and they managed to avoid any major incidents. Jack insisted on walking her back to her apartment on campus afterwards, an act of chivalry that she insisted was unnecessary (secretly, though, it pleased her immensely).

“This is me,” Katherine said, standing outside a tall, brick building.

“Right, then,” Jack said, giving her a nod. “I’ll wait ‘til I sees ya get in the elevator ‘fore I leave.”

“That’s going to be awkward,” she warned. “Sometimes it takes a while to come.”

“If that bothers ya so much, then take the stairs,” he suggested.

She frowned. “I’m on the sixth floor. I’m not taking the stairs.”

“Take ‘em up ta the second floor an’ wait for the elevator there where I can’t see ya.”

“That is a fantastic idea,” she said dryly, “But now I’m going to look like an idiot no matter what. Either you’ll be watching me stand in the lobby downstairs, or you’ll be staring at my ass as I walk up the stairs and know that I am waiting for the elevator on the second floor because I’m too embarrassed to make uncomfortable, intermittent eye contact with you for sixty seconds while waiting for the elevator down here.” 

He laughed. “Looks like you’re stuck between a rock and a hard place, then, Pulitzer.” 

“Ugh,” she grumbled. “I think I’ll just go to the library.”

He snorted. “Seriously? Just ta avoid havin’ ta either make eye contact with me or get your ass stared at?” 

She gasped. “So you _would_ look at my ass!” 

“ _Course_ I’d look at your ass!” He said, highly affronted. “I’m human, an’ you’s hot!” 

There was a brief pause, and then they both burst into laughter. 

“Oh my gosh,” Katherine said eventually, wiping tears from her eyes. “That was… I needed that.” 

He grinned. “Yeah.” 

“Hey,” she said, brightening. “Midterms are coming up—do you want to study together? Grab coffee, catch up, keep each other company while we work?”

He rubbed the back of his neck and said, “All my classes this term are in visual arts, so I don’t really have studying, just projects.” Her face started to fall, but he continued, “But, uh, I could work on job applications while you studied? Or, uh, I… I reserve studio time in the art buildin’, an’ you could hang out with me an’ study in there while I worked on my projects? I mean, if ya wanted to. ‘S prob’ly weird, I’m sure ya ain’t interested, forget I even—” 

“ _Jack_ ,” she said firmly, placing a hand on his shoulder. “That sounds great. Text me when you have your studio times reserved for next week?”

“Sure,” he said. “Lemme give you my number.”

Once they’d exchanged numbers and sent a quick text to make sure they’d typed things in correctly, they said good night with an awkward, albeit friendly, handshake. “Good night, Jack,” she said, smiling. 

“Night, Pulitzer.”

She swiped her key card to get into the dorm, and as she did so, she looked over her shoulder and said, “Make sure you stick around for a second to watch me. I’ve got a great ass.”

He chuckled and folded his arms. “Ohhhhh, Pulitzer,” he said, shaking his head in mock disappointment, “I’ve known that since day one. Why d’ya think I slammed inta ya on the skateboard? Your ass is so great it’s distracting.” 

“ _No_ ,” Katherine gasped, covering her nose and mouth with her hands.

“Yes,” he said, giving her a firm nod.

They looked at each other for a beat and descended into giggles. Katherine was laughing so hard that she had to brace herself on the side of the door, which had been open for so long that it was beeping.

Jack grinned and inclined his head towards the stairs. “Get goin’, then, hot stuff.”

She wiggled her eyebrows at him as she slipped through the door, and then she did a sultry salsa dance step all the way to the staircase. She turned around just before she stepped up out of sight, bending to blow him a kiss and wave her fingers at him, smiling wickedly.

He looked a fool, standing alone in the dark laughing at nothing, but he didn’t care. As far as he was concerned, Katherine Pulitzer was fucking hilarious.

 

*

 

They soon settled into an easy rhythm, seeing each other two or three times a week for meals, studying, and the occasional hang-out with each other’s friends. They certainly weren’t melding their friend groups together, but Katherine got along swimmingly with Race and Charlie and Davey and the rest (especially with Davey. The two of them got off to a rough start, but once Jack explained things to Davey and assured him that Katherine was a good egg, he quickly became firm friends with Katherine in his own right), and Jack charmed the pants off of Katherine’s friends, both male and female. (Not literally, though. Or at least she hoped not. She had her suspicions, but… she’d rather they remain unconfirmed.) 

Both of them were particularly fond of the late nights they spent together in the art building, Katherine downing coffee after coffee as she hammered away at her keyboard, Jack painting and shimmying to the rhythm of whatever colorful song he was blasting into his headphones. Sometimes they spent the night talking instead of working, but mostly they stayed focused; studio time was precious, and they could always talk later, over lunch. 

Katherine quickly realized that, for all Jack’s protests about the unviability of art as a career, he was intensely driven when it came to his work, and he was absolutely committed to making it as a professional artist. “You act like you don’t think you’re going to get a job,” she said one evening, “But that’s just a front. You’re good enough, and you know it! You’re just terrified that things won’t work out, and this whole ‘I’m going to be unemployed’ routine is a way to keep yourself from being disappointed if it falls through. But it’s not going to fall through, Jack. You’re really good. You’ve got genuine talent. Stop acting like you don’t care when you obviously do! Have a little self-confidence!”

“Fuck off,” he said, scowling.

“I _mean_ it, Jack. You need to stop discounting yourself!”

He paused in front of his easel, paint dripping onto the dropcloth in front of him. “Hey, Pulitzer, you got a degree in clinical psychology?” 

She frowned. “No, but—” 

“Then fuck the hell _off_!”

Katherine glared at him. “Geez, you have _got_ to stop biting the heads off of anyone who dares to tell you an uncomfortable truth!”

He growled. “They is a time an’ place f’r uncomf’table truths, Pulitzer, an’ it is _not_ in the middle of me pullin’ my senior showcase t’gether!” He swung around to gesture at her. “ ‘Sides, you’s one to talk—you gets touchy ev’ry time I bring up your postgrad plans.” He narrowed his eyes at her. “In fact, you’s so cagey ‘bout it, I’m startin’ ta think ya don’t have any.” 

Her jaw dropped. “That is _ridiculous_.” 

“Is it?” He raised an eyebrow and folded his arms, heedless of the paint fingerprints he was getting on his flannel button-down. “Tell me what you’s doin’ afta graduation, then.” 

“Are you _kidding_ me? I’m the most organized, put-together person you know! Of _course_ I have postgrad plans!” Jack gave her a look, and Katherine rolled her eyes. “Fine, the second-most organized. Davey’s unreal. But you, Jack Kelly—you are _impossible_. Absolutely _impossible_! You are so unwilling to be positive about yourself that you’d rather pick a fight with me and ruin an otherwise pleasant evening than admit that you're going to be successful!” 

“If ya ain’t enjoyin’ my comp’ny, feel free ta leave,” he said, extending an arm to motion at the door. “Exit’s thataway.”

“Thanks, I might have tried to go through the wall otherwise,” she said, acid dripping from her tongue. “I’m so glad I have you around to point me in the right direction. You’re so helpful, Jack, always telling me all these useful things about life that I would never have been able to figure out on my own, what a lucky girl I am to have a friend like you, I'm so glad I know someone who’s willing to make sure I make it through a doorway in one piece, what a gift you are, I never dreamed I’d meet someone so kind and selfless, I’ve spent my entire life running into walls and now you’re here to save me…” She said, slamming her laptop shut, shoving it into her backpack, and tossing in the rest of her things. Then she paused. “Oh, shit, Jack!” She said, switching into a baby voice and turning to look up at him through fluttering eyelashes. “I’m so muddle-headed that I’ve already forgotten where the door was! Could you point it out to me again, please?”

“Dammit, Pulitzer!” Jack gestured sharply in her direction, forgetting that he was still holding a dripping paintbrush. “I swear, you—” His mouth snapped closed as Katherine squeaked in surprise, and he realized he’d inadvertently splattered her in red paint. “Oh, shit, ohhhhh shit, shit shit shit,” he said, dropping the paintbrush and clapping a hand over his mouth. “I’m so sorry,” he mumbled. “Fuck, I didn’t…” He squeezed his eyes shut, and by the time he opened them again, Katherine had set down her backpack, walked across the room, and picked up one of Jack’s large, thick-bristled paintbrushes. He watched as she bent over, dunked it in the open can of red paint, and strode towards him, paint dripping onto her black Lanvin ballet flats. “Pulitzer—” He tried, but she put a finger over his mouth, shook her head, and pressed the brush to his hair, dragging a thick red stripe across his forehead and all the way down to his toes. 

She straightened up after that, brush still in hand, and smiled sweetly. “Red is a good color on you.” 

“Oh, you are _on_ ,” he said, running for the open can of red paint. She squealed and raced past him for the blue, dipping her brush in right as he slopped a whole mess of paint down her back.

“Aaaaaa!” She shrieked. “That’s _cold_!” Laughing, she swung around and slung the blue at him. 

“Fuck!” He yelled, as the paint splashed all across his front. She charged forwards, dipping the paintbrush in the remaining blue paint and waving it wildly, trying to mark his clothes and skin as best she could. She got in a few good strokes before he grabbed her wrist and dumped the rest of the red over her head, cackling as it dripped down her hair and began pooling on the floor.

“Ohhhhh,” she moaned, trying to wipe the rivulets of paint off of her forehead and just smearing them further. “It’s so _gloopy_!”

“Gloopy?” He asked, snorting as he laughed. “Now you’s just makin’ things up, girlie; that ain’t a word.”

“It is, too,” she said. “It’s a silly one, yes, but it’s real.”

“Well, you’d know better than I would,” he admitted, flicking his fingers at her and scattering droplets of blue paint across her torso.

“I would,” she agreed, and then she started to giggle. “What a mess, oh my gosh.”

“It is,” he said cheerfully, leaning over to press a hand on her shoulder and smear the red around. The red he’d splashed onto Katherine mixed with the blue paint on his hands until it blended into purple, and he hummed in approval. “Hey, how would you feel about not showerin’ for the next month an’ servin’ as an exhibit in my senior showcase?” 

She shoved him, leaving a bright red handprint just over his heart. “There is a snowball’s chance in hell that I’ll do that,” she said, and he laughed. “But you can take a picture,” she added, grinning.

His eyes lit up. “Selfie?” 

She hopped a little in excitement. “Ahhh, yes! My phone has a good camera, hang on,” she said, running over to her pile of things. She pulled her shirt up to wipe her hands on her as-yet unstained stomach before rifling through her purse, and, while her back was to him, Jack nodded in appreciation. “Here we go,” she said, and he set his face to neutral as she turned around to smile at him. “Say cheese,” she said, pressing herself into his side and angling the phone just so.

“Cheeeeeeese,” said Jack, feeling ridiculously, stupidly happy.

“Perfect,” she said, checking the photo and shoving her phone back in her bag. “I’m going to head out now, I want to wash the paint off before it dries and stains my skin. See you Saturday?”

“Yeah,” Jack said, bending to wipe his hands on the dropcloth.

“Don’t be late, okay? The line is supposed to be out the door, so we need to eat fast and head over there quick.”

“Seven o’clock sharp,” he promised, picking up a wet rag and wiping the worst of the paint off his face. 

“Dress a little nicer than usual?”

He rolled his eyes. “I know how ta behave in public, girlie, I promise.”

“Sorry,” she said, giving him an apologetic look and reaching for the doorknob. “Okay, then, see you on the twenty-fifth!”

He froze in the middle of scrubbing down his forearms. “The twenty-fifth?”

“Yeah,” she said, a little confused. “Saturday is the twenty-fifth.”

“Shit,” he said, swallowing hard. “Could we… could we do it another day?” 

“It's a talk and a concert with Arvo Pärt, Jack, it’s one evening only,” she said, completely baffled now. 

“Right, right,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair and coating it in paint again. 

“Did you overbook yourself?” She asked, adjusting the straps on her backpack. “I can go with someone else if you can’t make it, it’s not a big deal.”

He brushed at his nose and turned his nostrils blue. “No, no, I’m free, I just…” He trailed off and stared at the floor, rubbing the back of his neck. 

“You can tell me, Jack,” Katherine said, dropping her hand from the door and taking a step towards him. “I won’t get mad, I promise. And you don’t have to have a reason—you can just skip it. It’s totally fine. I bet I could get Marilyn to go with me; it’s really not a problem.”

“No, I _want_ to,” Jack said, clearly frustrated. “It’s just that…" He left the sentence unfinished, closed his eyes, and shook his head. "Eh, whatever.” He shrugged and looked up at her, his signature cheeky grin back in place. “Let's do it. I'll see ya at seven, girlie.”

“Are you sure?” She asked, unconvinced by his sudden about-face. 

“Absolutely,” he said, rolling his eyes at her when she gave him a skeptical look. “I will see you at seven on Saturday, Pulitzer. Now go wash up.” 

“Okay,” she said, dragging the word out to show that she still wasn’t totally buying whatever he was selling. “But you’ll let me know if you change your mind?”

“I won’t change my mind,” he said, exasperated. “Now scram already.”

“Alright,” she said, and flashed him a brilliant, paint-smeared smile. “Bye, Jack!" Halfway out the door, she paused and stuck her head back into the room to say, "And Jack? Please pray for me as I navigate this treacherous campus all alone—there are so many doors! There is a serious possibility that I will never make it home without your expert guidance!”

He burst out laughing as she winked and waved goodbye. If anyone could make the 25th bearable, she could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may be a terrible grad student, but I am a star at updating this story. Please make my brain release dopamine by leaving me comments! <3 :D
> 
> And yeah, I have no clue how many chapters this thing is going to end up being. IT'S A MYSTERY :O


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which SO MUCH HAPPENS OH MY GOSH BUCKLE UP
> 
> Or: In which Katherine does her best, and Jack learns how to do better next time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings for this: Alcohol, panic attack, mentioned parent death

Katherine was waiting in front of the little deli they’d agreed to meet at for dinner before heading to line up for the lecture and performance. She was pinging with excitement—she was going to get to see Arvo Pärt! For free! She was certain Jack would love the music, if only he’d give it a chance—pestering him into accompanying her tonight had been a hard-won victory. But he’d agreed. He’d promised he’d be here. So where _was_ he?

She smoothed down the skirt of her azure blue taffeta dress and cast a quick glance at the menu posted in the window before going back to scanning the streets for Jack. The deli didn’t serve anything that caught her eye, but she’d picked this place because it was a block from the venue, not because it had good food. She was sure she could find something here to keep her stomach from growling, and the portion sizes were supposed to be large enough to satisfy even Jack. If only he’d show up… 

“There you are!” Katherine said, dropping a nervous hand from her pearl necklace and waving at Jack as he walked down the street towards her. She heaved an internal sigh of relief as she looked him up and down. Yes, he was wearing that stupid baseball cap again, pulled low over his face, but the rest of him was presentable—currant-red button-down shirt, dark wash jeans, black dress shoes. And she could get him to take the cap off before they went in for the talk, so that was fine. She hadn’t been sure he’d be able to pull off the whole ‘wear something nice’ thing, but he absolutely had. He looked great. “Come on, let’s order,” she said, grabbing his arm and pulling him into the restaurant, wrinkling her nose at the sudden, tangy smell of beer. “I want to be as close to the front of the line as possible, they’re definitely not going to have enough room for everyone…” 

They stepped up to the counter and Katherine rattled off her order; Jack mumbled something about a burger and fries and grabbed two beers out of the fridge before pulling out his wallet and paying for the lot. 

“You didn’t have to—” Katherine began, but Jack just shrugged and walked over to a booth, stumbling a little as he did so. She slid in opposite him as he shoved a beer across the table to her. She caught it and frowned. “I don’t like this stuff; you know that.”

“More f’r me, then,” he said, grabbing it back and pulling a quarter out of his pocket to open it up. He finished the first one before the food even arrived, starting in immediately on the second. 

“What are you _doing_?” She asked, grabbing at his wrist.

He twisted away from her angrily. “Hands off,” he snapped, taking another swig. 

She stayed quiet as the waitress set their food on the table, but as soon as she was gone, Katherine leaned across the table and hissed, “Are you _drunk_?”

“Not drunk enough,” he muttered, finishing off the rest of the beer and rising to get another.

“ _Jack!_ ” She said, but not loudly enough for anyone else in the restaurant to hear, and certainly not loudly enough to stop him. He bought another two beers and sat heavily back in the booth, fumbling with the quarter for several long seconds before popping the next beer open. Katherine felt her stomach lurch as he shotgunned his third beer in fifteen minutes. Something was wrong, something was desperately wrong, but she had no idea what.

“Jack, let’s go back to campus, okay?” She said softly, stretching a hand gently across the table to take the last beer away from him. “Let’s go back to campus, and we can… you can… we can figure this out. Whatever it is that’s got you so upset, you can tell me about it, okay? Or not. We can just sit on the couch and watch stupid movies. Just… let’s go, okay? Put the beer down and let’s go.”

“Like fuck I’m leaving right now,” he snarled, pulling the beer as closely to him as possible. “I paid for this beer an’ this food, an’ I’m havin’ it.” 

She looked nervously around the restaurant before slipping off to the cashier and asking for to-go boxes. “I’m putting your food in here,” she said, trying to sound firm and only halfway succeeding, “And as soon as you finish your beer, we are going back to campus.” 

Jack just grunted and took a long pull from the glass bottle.

“Fuck, Jack,” she whispered. “What is going _on_?”

He set his half-finished beer on the table, squeezed his eyes shut, and opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

“Jack?” She reached out to lay her hand gently atop his, and he yelled, lurching backwards. The hum in the deli died down for a second as people turned their heads to stare, and Katherine gave them an awkward smile. As soon as the noise picked up again, she looked back at Jack and saw that he’d started shaking uncontrollably in his seat. Fuck, was he having a seizure? No, no, he was conscious, but he was not doing well; he’d wrapped his arms around himself and was rocking back and forth, his breaths coming short and fast. 

“Jack,” she said firmly. “I’m taking you back to campus. You are going to get out of this booth, then you are going to lay your arm across my shoulders so we can get out of this restaurant, and then I am going to hail a cab. Okay? Nod if you understand.” 

He nodded jerkily, still rocking, and she heaved an internal sigh of relief. One hurdle down. She slung her purse across her body, exited the booth, and waited for him to gather his strength and scoot out to stand next to her. “I’m going to put your arm across me now, okay? Lean into me, Jack.”

He whimpered as she took hold of his arm and settled it over her shoulders, but he didn’t shy away, and they were able to make it to the door eventually, Jack’s body trembling against hers. She thanked heaven that she was able to hail a cab fairly quickly, and she opened up the door to shove him inside.

“Hey, hey,” said the cabbie, waving his arms at her and Jack. “He’s drunk—I don’t want no drunk in my cab!”

“He’s _sick_ ,” she snapped, “And I will tip you a hundred bucks if you take us.”

“Show me,” said the cabbie, making a grabbing motion.

“I’m paying by _credit card_ ,” Katherine said, pushing Jack farther over and taking her seat. “You’ll get it at the end. Plus fifty extra if he pukes on the way.”

“Seventy-five,” said the cabbie.

“Fine,” Katherine said sharply. “Now _drive_.”

She buckled Jack up first and then snapped herself in before turning to give him her full attention. He was still shuddering, and at some point in the last two minutes he’d started making unsettling keening noises that just about broke her heart. “Jack,” she said softly, “Jack, can you hear me? Nod if you can.” He nodded, his eyes tightly closed. “Okay. Okay, baby, that’s good. You’re going to be fine, okay? You’re going to be just fine. I’m going to stay right with you until we can get you back to your apartment where the boys can take care of you, alright? In fact, I’m going to call Davey right now, make sure they’re there.”

He sobbed at that and shook his head violently.

“No? Okay, that’s okay, that’s fine, just tell me what part of that is a no and I’ll fix it, okay? I’ll fix it.”

“Boys—” He made a strangled noise and shook his head again.

“You don’t want them to see you like this?” She guessed. He nodded, and she bit her lip. “Okay, baby. My apartment?” His teeth were chattering so hard that he couldn’t speak, but he managed to open his eyes long enough to give her a pleading look before squeezing them shut again and resuming his rocking. She tried to keep her voice calm, but they were running out of options. She looked out the window for a brief second and then leaned up to tell the driver, “Change of plans. Take us to the closest hotel, please.”

“Do I still get my tip?” 

“ _Yes_ ,” she snapped. “Do you want a Humanitarian of the Year award while you’re at it?”

The driver shrugged, turned a corner, and pulled up to the curb. “Here you go.” 

“Wow, I’m so grateful,” she said, sounding anything but. “You’ll get your tip in a minute,” she said, scrambling out of the car as he yelled after her.

“Hey! Hey, lady, where’re you goin’? Come back an’ get this guy outta my car! Lady! Lady?” He swiveled in his seat to look at Jack and said, “She comin’ back, or what?” 

Jack just moaned.

“You look awful,” the cabbie commented, and started fiddling with the radio, Jack jumping at each burst of static.

Katherine was back in less than five minutes, a little breathless. “Here,” she said, swiping her card for the driver. “We’ll be out of your hair now.” She stretched out a hand and patted the back seat. “Come on, Jack, let’s go.”

He somehow managed to slide across the sticky vinyl seats and stumble out of the cab, leaning heavily on her side. She looped an arm around his chest, half-dragging him through the hotel lobby and into the elevator, which arrived mercifully quickly. Katherine hauled him inside and punched the button for the twentieth floor over and over. “Come on, come on, come on,” she whispered, “Let’s _go_.” As soon as the doors closed they collapsed against the wall, both of them panting with exertion. He slumped against her, his ballcap digging into her neck, her shoulder mashing into his cheek. It couldn’t have been comfortable for him –it certainly wasn’t for her–, but she wasn’t going to try to move him.

“We’re here,” she said eventually, pulling the key card out of her pocket (boy, did she love this dress) and hauling him down the corridor to a nondescript room. “Okay,” she said, closing the door gently behind them and helping him crawl onto one of the twin-sized beds. “Okay, baby, it’s okay. You’re safe now, baby. I promise. Just breathe. Count to seven with me, alright? Inhale for one… two…” She crouched by the side of the bed and counted for him even as he continued to hyperventilate; she really didn’t know what else to do.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of counting, he started to adjust his breathing to match her rhythm, and the spasms in his legs and torso began to slow. “That’s good, baby, that’s it. Keep breathing, that’s it. One… two…” Katherine gave an internal sigh of relief and moved from a squat into a sit to ease her aching thighs. After another ten minutes of this, his eyes were still closed, but his body was mostly still, and his breathing was even. She sat there in silence, watching his chest rise and fall. Was he out of the woods now? Did he need medical attention? What the heck was going _on_?

She bit her lip and decided to take a chance on upsetting him again. “Jack?” She said quietly, her voice authoritative but gentle. “Jack, I need to know what that was so I can make sure you’re safe, okay? So I’m going to ask you some questions now. Nothing invasive, nothing hard. I just need to make sure I can take care of you properly. Is that alright? Can I do that?” 

He nodded, and she took a deep breath. “Has this happened before?” Nod. “Do you know what it was?” Nod. “Okay. That’s good. Now, do you need a doctor?”

“No,” he croaked, surprising her. “No… just… just time.”

“Okay, baby, that’s fine,” she said soothingly. “We have all the time in the world. We’ll stay here as long as you need. I promise. Now can you tell me how to help you right now, Jack? Do you want me to go? Do you want me to get you some water or some aspirin? Put on some music?” 

“Stay,” he said, his voice wobbly. “Please, Kath’rine, please stay.” 

“Absolutely,” she said. “Do you want me to rub your back or hold your hand? Or would you rather I just sit here? I can do whatever. Just tell me what you need.”

He took a shuddering breath and pulled his knees up to his chest. “Hold me?” He whispered. “Please?”

“Sure thing, baby,” she said. “Just let me take off my shoes.” He nodded, and she slipped off her Louboutins and lined them up beside the bed. “Okay, Jack,” she said, her heart racing. “I’m going to touch you now, alright? You don’t need to be afraid—it’s just me. I’m climbing up on the other side of the bed now, and that’s the weight of my knee right there, and now I’m lying down next to you—do you feel that? That’s me, baby, that’s me, that’s all that is. Good job, baby, shh. There you go, there you go, it’s okay, that’s it… and… and now I’m going to hold you, okay? Are you ready?”

He nodded again, and she squeezed her eyes shut to steady her nerves. Was she really doing this? Was she really… _oh, screw it, Katherine, he needs you_. She scooted up behind him and snuggled in close, fitting her body to his and bending her head to rest against his upper back. She felt him tense and then relax, and she reached her right arm over his ribcage, searching for his hands. She felt him cling to her like she was a life preserver, and then she entwined her fingers with his, rubbing her thumb across the back of his hand. 

“Shh, baby, shh,” she cooed, removing his hat so that she could comb gently through his hair. “You’re safe, Jackie, you’re safe. I’m right here, and you’re okay, and I’m not going anywhere until you’re better. I promise. Take your time, baby. It’s okay.” 

He took another deep, ragged breath and nodded, pulling her arm in even tighter. The smell of beer was almost overpowering now that she was pressed against him, but she pushed aside her distaste and held him close, praying that whatever was wrong, whatever had hurt him, whatever it was that had turned him into a shell of himself, that… that it would loose its claws and let him go. 

After an hour or so, maybe more, she heard him snore, and she felt her shoulders relax. And—ow, had she really been clenching her jaw that entire time? She had a tension headache niggling between her eyes, too, ugh, this was _not_ the night she’d envisioned, but… Jack was asleep, and he was calm, and that was infinitely more important. Her stomach growled, and she sat up slightly to scan his face. He looked okay, she thought, taking in his pale cheeks and tousled hair. Well… fine, that was a lie. He looked like shit. He did look stable enough for her to get up and eat her unfinished dinner, though, and that was all she needed right now. If she sat where he could see her when he woke up, surely that would be alright. 

She extricated herself from his grasp and rolled off the bed, padding quietly across the floor. _So far so good_ , she thought, a split-second too soon—right as she opened up the box with her meal in it, he began to twitch and mutter. _Coincidence_ , she thought, but then he began to whimper, tossing from one side to the other, moving so violently that he’d knocked the pillows onto the floor and was beginning to get tangled in the blankets. _Shoot_. She stuffed a quarter of the sandwich into her mouth and returned to his side, holding his shoulders still until he’d stopped jerking enough for her to hug him close. He buried his head in the crook of her neck with a plaintive noise and she rubbed his back, sighing as he quieted at her touch. She was well and truly stuck for now, it seemed… Oh well, might as well get in a quick nap of her own. She closed her eyes and listened to him breathe, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat lulling her to sleep.

 

*

 

She and Jack were driving down the highway in a cherry red cabriolet, the wind whipping through their hair. An unidentifiable song was playing on the radio, the sun was shining, and the road was straight and empty. They could go as fast and as far as they wanted, they could drive forever, they could leave and never come back—no one was there to stop them. She grinned, seeing his face light up as he laughed at something she’d said. 

“Kiss me,” she whispered, and he did. She pulled his stubbled face to hers and kissed him back, kissed him hard, didn’t want the kiss to end, but—“Have you been _drinking_?” She asked, shoving him away.

“Hardly at all,” he said, pouting, turning up the radio. 

“What do you mean, hardly at—Jack! Look _out_!” She screamed, as another car appeared out of nowhere, barreling straight for them.

“Relax,” he said, “It’s fine,” and then he took his hands off the wheel to turn up the music.

“No!” She yelled, leaning over him to try to steer them out of danger, and then—then she was awake, and the music was real, and it was—a second-rate version of Danny Boy? What the—she listened more closely, blinking her eyes open and shut—it was awfully dark, she couldn’t see much of anything— _oh, you’ve got to be kidding me_ , she thought, as she realized that yes, the song was Danny Boy, but the lyrics were unmistakably Race and Albert singing, “Oh Jackie Boy, your friends, your friends are calling, pick up the phone, and stop being a diiiiick”

With a flash, she remembered where she was and realized that Jack was still curled up in her arms, sound asleep. Groaning, she untangled herself from him, rolled out of bed, and dug through his jacket to find his phone. As soon as she answered the call, she heard Davey’s frantic voice at the other end of the line. “Jack? Oh thank heavens, Jack, where _are_ you? Are you okay? Do you need help? Are you dead? Say something, Jack!”

Katherine grabbed the key card and slipped out into the hallway so that she could talk without waking Jack up. “Davey, hey, it’s Kath,” she said, wincing at the _“What?!”_ that Davey bellowed in her ear.

“Where’s _Jack?_ ” Davey yelled. “Is he okay? Oh _fuck—_ Katherine, is he in the hospital? Do we need to get over there to say goodbye? Fuck fuck fuck please tell me he’s with you, Katherine, tell me what’s going on, we’re all out of our minds with worry over here, Charlie is beside himself, and I—”

“Davey!” She said, cutting him off. “Everything’s fine. He’s with me. He conked out pretty early and I didn’t want to wake him, that’s all. You can stop worrying—he’s safe, I promise.”

“Okay,” said Davey, heaving a huge sigh of relief. “If he’s with you, I’m sure he’s fine. I… Sorry, Kath. Um. I’m glad he’s okay. You two have a nice time, I’ll let you go—”

“Hold on a minute,” Katherine commanded. “It’s…” She flipped her wrist to check her watch. “It’s 2am on a Saturday night. Jack _regularly_ stays out later than this. Why are you so freaked out?”

Davey coughed uncomfortably. “I… maybe you should ask him?” 

“David,” she said, a clear warning note in her voice.

Davey sighed. “I don’t know the whole story, but… he just… he never goes out on March 25th? Locks himself in his room the whole day. Charlie says he’s done it as long as the two of them have known each other. Probably longer. He refuses to talk about it, but we all know enough now to leave him be. We bring him some beer, knock to leave a pizza by his door, that sort of thing.” 

“Okay?” Katherine said, scratching her head a little.

“Yeah,” Davey said, sounding a little sheepish, “So we all kind of freaked out when we, uh, well, we hadn’t heard anything from his room all day, and usually we get some yells and thumps and things like that, so we… we, uh… we… jimmied the lock to his bedroom?” Katherine clapped a hand to her forehead, and Davey barreled on. “I know it sounds bad, but… we were just really worried, you know? And then we opened the door and he wasn’t _there_ , and he hasn’t been answering his texts and he hasn’t so much as _looked_ at anything on social media in hours, so we thought… well,” Davey said, still clearly embarrassed, “I wasn’t sure _what_ we thought. The bush below his window is all squashed and we just… I dunno, Kath. We should’ve called earlier, I guess. Did… did I wake you up? I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s fine,” Katherine said, leaning back against the wall and tilting her head upwards. “I get it; I’d have been worried, too. Everything’s okay, though—he had plans with me, that’s all. Dinner, some music, hanging out. You know the drill.”

“Yeah,” Davey said, only a little bit jealous that he hadn’t been invited. The three of them did things together often enough that Katherine felt a little bit guilty for having left him out, but… sometimes friends needed one-on-one time, too. “Good. I’m glad that’s all it was. Sorry again, Kath. I’ll, uh, I’ll let you go.” 

“No worries, Davey. Talk later.” 

“Bye.” 

Kath hung up and rubbed her face tiredly as she slipped back into the hotel room. Jack had a lot of explaining to do when he woke up. She stood quietly in the entryway for a moment, trying to gauge if she needed to go lie back down next to him or if she could get some genuinely restful sleep in the other bed… Nope, he was moaning again. “Here goes round three,” she muttered to herself, climbing back in bed with him and stroking his hair. “Shh, baby, shh,” she said, her voice low. “It’s okay, Jackie. It’s okay.” 

“Katherine,” he said, very clearly, snapping his eyes open to stare at her. She was so startled that she froze. “He’s coming.” He drew in a shuddering breath and repeated, “He’s coming, Katherine. He’ll be here soon—we have to go.”

She scanned his face and realized with a shock that he was still sleeping. “Who’s coming, Jack?” 

“Snyder,” he whispered. “Snyder’s coming, Katherine. Shhh, he’ll hear you if you talk too loud…”

She narrowed her eyes. “The man from the group home?” 

“Yeah,” Jack said, sitting up in bed and laying a hand on her shoulder to hold her still. He scanned the room quickly and looked down at her, whispering, “He’s coming to get us; we have to go.” He grabbed her hand and tugged, and she swallowed, uncertain what to do next.

“Jack…” She said, sitting up and rubbing his shoulders, “It’s a dream, Jack. Snyder’s not coming. You’re okay. You’re safe.”

Jack shook his head frantically and tugged at her arm again, trying to hoist her out of bed. “No no no, come on, come _on_! We have to go, Emmy, we have to get out of here! We have to get out of here _now_!”

“Emmy?” Katherine asked. 

“Come _on_ ,” Jack said, his voice getting progressively higher-pitched as he yanked at her arm. “Please, Emmy, _please_ —I know it’s hard, I _know_ , I get it—but Mom and Dad are gone, okay? We can’t wait for them any longer. We have to go. It’s my job to protect you, and this time I’m going to do it right.” He moved to kneel in front of her on the bed, looking her very seriously in the eyes and gently stroking her cheek. “I’m not lettin' him get you this time, baby, okay? I _swear_ it. I’m gonna keep you safe this time. I’ll keep you safe if it kills me. But we gotta get out. Okay?”

“Oh, Jack,” she whispered, aching for him. “This is all a dream.”

“I wish it were,” he muttered, straightening up and looking for his shoes. He turned back to her and said, “How’s your leg? Do you need me to carry you? Let’s go.”

“Jack, I—” She said, and then he scooped her up in his arms. 

He bent to kiss her forehead and whispered, “I love you, Emmy. You’s all I got left, an’ I’s gonna take care of you, I swear. I am _not_ gonna lose you. I’d rather die.”

“It’s not real,” she said softly, but she’d resigned herself to the fact that, whatever was going on, she was just going to have to ride it out.

They made it out into the hallway and halfway to the elevator before Jack froze, blinked, and let Katherine fall. She bit back a squeak as she felt herself dropping through the air, but she couldn’t stop herself from yelling when she hit the ground. She’d landed squarely on her hip, and it _hurt_.

Jack jumped and looked down at her, his eyes wide. “Katherine?” He asked. “What—what are you—” He looked around wildly, registered that they were in a hotel, and whipped his head back to her. “Why are you—Where are we—” His eyes got even bigger as he saw her rubbing her hip, clearly in pain, and he asked, “Did… did _I_ do that? Did I _drop_ you?”

“Yeah,” she said, groaning a little as she tried to stand. “But it’s okay. You didn’t mean to.” 

“No no no,” he said, squatting down and lifting her back up. “Shit, oh shit, I’m so sorry, lemme get you back to…” He trailed off and gripped her a little tighter as he looked slowly around the hallway. “Where _are_ we?”

“Hotel,” she said through gritted teeth. “Room 2002,” she said, pulling the key card out of her dress pocket and pointing down the hall. “Fourth one on the left.”

“Okay,” he said, taking the key card from her and bringing them back to the room. He laid her on the unused bed, careful to place her so she was lying on her right hip rather than the left, and then he sat down next to her. “Katherine,” he said, trying to conceal the fear in his voice. “What did I do?”

“What’s the last thing you remember?” She asked, wincing as she poked at her hip.

“Don’t _do_ that!” He yelped. “Geez, Pulitzer, ain’t you never gotten hurt before? Here, I’m gonna go get ya some ice. ‘S probably bruised pretty bad. Hang on.” He grabbed the ice bucket off the top of the mini fridge and raced out the door.

Katherine laid there in silence and waited for him to return, completely bewildered. She was in way over her head here, that was for sure. By the time he got back she had moved to prop herself up against the pillows and had pulled up her dress to inspect her hip. Yep, it was already turning purple.

“That’s gonna be a helluva shiner,” Jack commented, grabbing a washcloth from the bathroom and running it under water before wrapping several ice cubes in it. 

“It already is,” she said, nodding her thanks as he handed her the makeshift ice pack.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, rubbing his temples with his hands. “I should never have agreed ta meet ya on the twenty-fifth. Weren’t no way it could’ve gone anything but wrong.”

“What on earth is going on, Jack? You were… you really scared me,” she said, unwilling to be anything but honest right now.

He sighed and slumped over just a little more. “ ‘S an anniversary thing,” he mumbled. “M’parents died twelve years ago on March 25, an’ I just… I never… I dunno. I lose it every year. So I… I started lockin’ m’self in, ya know? Figured I couldn’t do nothin’ bad to no one an’ no one couldn’t do nothin’ bad ta me if I just stayed in my room all day, an’ ‘s worked pretty well so far, but I… I told you I’d go ta this an’ you looked so excited an’ I didn’t wanna let you down, so I… I let the boys think I was stayin’ home, 'cause I knew they'd flip if I said I wasn't, an’ then I snuck out to see you.”

“By jumping out a second story window?” She asked dryly. 

His head shot up in amazement. “How’d you know that?”

“Davey called,” she explained. “They figured out you were missing and got worried, so I reassured them that you’d just gone to get dinner and hang out with me. I think they think we’re in my apartment and that you’re asleep on my couch, and I won’t tell them any differently.” 

He swallowed hard. “Thanks. I just… they knows I get bad sometimes, but they… they don’t know how bad. They looks up ta me, ya know?” He said, his voice a little bit pleading. “I can’t let ‘em down.”

“You aren’t letting anyone down by admitting that you don’t have it all together,” she said, reaching to pat him on the leg.

“Mmm,” he said, unconvinced, staring at the floor.

She sighed. “Well. I'll let your therapist handle that one. But there’s more to this than just a death date, Jack. Do you want to talk about it, or should I just drop it?” She shifted her weight slightly and grimaced at the shooting pain in her hip. “I should warn you, though, that even if I drop it, you need to tell me what was going on with you in the restaurant and the cab so that I know what to do if it happens again.”

“It _won’t_ ,” he growled, still unwilling to look at her.

“It might,” she countered, crossing her arms. “Look, Jack. I know you’ve had a rough past, and now I’m pretty sure it’s even rougher than I thought, so I understand why you don't want to talk. And I’m not asking you to tell me everything; you don’t owe me that. But friends look out for each other, and I can’t look out for you if I don’t know what’s going _on_.”

He turned away from her to look at the far wall and said, “Panic attack. I get ‘em sometimes. I… I thought I was dyin’ the first time it happened, thought my heart was gonna beat right outta my chest, but f'r me 's just… ‘s, uh, ‘s just a… a physiological response ta... uh, ta trauma,” he said, clearly parroting his therapist.

“Okay,” she said. “So how do I help you avoid them? And what do I do when they happen?”

“They’s pretty rare,” he said, rubbing at the back of his neck. “An’ they’s almost never as bad as they was tonight. Just a lotta bad luck on that one, I think. I ain’t been sleepin’ so good this last week, an’ ‘m worried ‘bout my showcase, an’ then it’s the twenty-fifth, so I thought maybe if I got buzzed it’d take the edge offa things, but then I… then I got mad an’ closed my eyes an’ you touched me when my eyes was closed, so I… my brain just freaked.” He swallowed and looked back at her. “I c’n normally handle somethin’ like that just fine, it was just a lotta things goin’ on at once, an’ sometimes I’m… I, uh... I gets a little sensitive ‘bout touch when ‘m on edge?”

“Huh,” Katherine said. “I wouldn’t have guessed that. You’re the most tactile person I know.” 

He laughed briefly. “Yeah, ‘s weird.” 

“Brains are weird," she said, giving him an understanding look. 

“Yeah.”

They sat there in silence for a minute or two, and Katherine said, “So… so if it happens again when I'm with you?”

He bent forwards and covered his face in his hands. “I hope it don’t, but… whatcha did t’night, it was… it was pretty much perfect. Just talk me through what you’s doin’ next, get me somewhere quiet, ask me what I need. I’ll respond if I can. I… Yeah. Thanks, Pulitzer,” he said, looking over at her. “I’m real sorry you had t’ see that. I know I ruined your evenin’, an’ I…” His eyes widened as he looked around the hotel room. “Shit, I’ll pay f’r this, an’ oh, _fuck_ , the _cab_ —” 

“Jack!” She squeezed his thigh. “Stop it. I’ve got it. Don’t you worry about that. You paid for dinner, so we’re quits.” She smiled at him, nodding and raising her eyebrows up high, trying to forestall any protests, and he gave a shaky laugh. 

“Okay. Thanks.” 

“One more thing, Jack,” she said, “And then I think we both need some sleep.”

“Go f'r it,” he said, rubbing his nose. 

“Who’s Emmy?”

He froze and gripped the covers so hard that his knuckles went white. “Who now? Emmy? I… I don’t know an Emmy.”

“Okay,” she said calmly. “You don’t have to share that with me if you don’t want to. Now, up until about fifteen minutes ago we were spooning in that bed over there,” she said, pointing at the twin bed with the rumpled covers. “Do you want me to hold you as you fall asleep again, or would you prefer to sleep by yourself? I can do either.” Her tone was matter-of-fact, for which Jack was extremely grateful. 

“I’m good,” he said, somehow both gruff and bashful all at once. He patted her legs, rose, and went to settle in the unmade bed. “G’night, then, Pulitzer. An’… an’ thanks.” 

“You’re welcome,” she said, leaning back into the pillows and switching off the light. “That’s what friends are for.”

 

*

 

Katherine checked them out of the hotel in the morning, and then they took the subway back to campus. They didn't even need to discuss that; neither of them was in the mood to deal with another cabbie, particularly not when they both looked rumpled and wretched. They'd showered and eaten the complimentary continental breakfast, but it hadn't seemed to help much. Jack walked Katherine to her apartment building, feeling guiltier with every limping step she took. 

“Okay, Jack,” she said as they reached her entrance. “Are there any other hard anniversary days I should know about?”

He frowned. “What?”

“Look,” she said, fishing in her purse for her keys. “I’m not mad about last night. You got overwhelmed and handled things as best you could, which turned out to be poorly; heaven knows I’ve done that, too. It happens. You tried your best, and that’s all you can hope for, so don’t feel guilty or bad or anything like that. But from here on out, you have to tell me about these things in advance, okay?” Jack’s scowl darkened, but she stood her ground. “We’re friends, Jack, and friends should know these things about each other.” 

A hurt look flashed across Jack’s face and then he snapped, “What, ya want me ta draw up a list of crappy days in my life where people died or left or hung me out ta dry?” He took a step closer and raised an eyebrow. “ ‘S a long list, Pulitzer; you’s gonna have a lot of rememb’rin ta do.”

Katherine wasn’t fazed in the least. All she did was shrug. “If you want to hand me a list, then sure, that’s fine with me. And I have a smartphone to do the remembering for me, wise guy, so knock it off. Just tell me stuff. I can’t help if you don’t keep me in the loop, and I don't want to be blindsided again, either.” 

He rubbed at his neck and backed down, embarrassed. “Yeah... Yeah. You’re right, Pulitzer. I’m sorry. I really am. I handled that all wrong. Friends... friends deserve ta know.”

“That’s right,” she said reassuringly, finding her key and then reaching out to squeeze his hand briefly. “I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me, Jack. And just so you know—you’re not burdening me when you tell me things. Getting to help you is a privilege, okay? Not a burden. You’re never a burden. It’s an honor to be someone you trust, Jack. When you open up to me the way you did last night? That’s a gift. And whenever you feel ready to give me that gift, it’s one I’ll gladly accept. Always.”

He nodded and jammed his hands into his pockets. “Pulitzer?”

Katherine paused, halfway through the doorway to her building. “Yeah?”

“Fuck off.”

She grinned. “Sure thing, buddy. Lunch tomorrow?”

He smiled back. “Yeah.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Depression meals? Try depression fanfic writing binge. Merghkadfj. Well, as Jack has shown us, there are worse coping mechanisms! ;) :P :D 
> 
> I hope you liked it!!!! Please tell me what you thought! :D


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jack is more okay than Katherine is

Davey and Katherine were sitting at a table in the dining hall, bickering over the crossword they were trying to solve together. “It’s beak, David, the answer is _clearly_ beak!”

“How can you be so sure? Nose fits, too!”

Katherine made an exasperated noise. “The clue is schnoz; they are obviously looking for slang.”

“Weak argument,” Davey said, raising his hands as if to say ‘you give me no choice but to debate you.’

“ _Furthermore_ ,” Katherine said snottily, “The theme looks to have something to do with birds.”

“But this isn’t one of the starred theme clues!”

“Oh come _on_ , you know they like to toss in little winks and nods on the side. It’s beak, it _has_ to be!” 

Davey glared at her and then reached in his backpack for a pencil. “Fine. But you have to use this. I’m not convinced enough for pen.”

She rolled her eyes. “Whatever. But I’m right—you’ll see.”

“Why don’t you use one of the crosses?” Jack asked, lifting his eyes from the graphic novel he was reading.

Katherine and Davey blinked, looking at Jack, then each other, then back at Jack. “We don’t have any of the crosses,” Davey explained, “But geez, Jack, I didn’t know you knew squat about crosswords.”

“You two jabber on about them enough,” Jack said carelessly, reaching into the plastic bowl next to him to grab a handful of Lucky Charms. “And I’m with Kath. Will Shortz likes it when puzzles include more theme-related words than just the themed clues. Go with beak.”

Katherine stuck her tongue out at Davey. “See?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Davey grumbled. “We’ll let the puzzle settle it.”

Katherine grinned and bent to read the next clue. “Recently, Whitehead, Nguyen, and Doerr.” Then she checked her watch, rubbed at a small scab that just barely extended from under the leather wristband, and scooted back from the table. “Sorry to bail, guys, but I have a meeting in half an hour on the other side of campus. Let me know what the answer to that one clue was, Davey!” 

“Uh, sure,” Davey said, slightly bewildered at her sudden exit. 

“Hey, Pulitzer, wait!” Jack called. “What about—”

“Text me!” She yelled over her shoulder, and disappeared.

Davey scratched his head and looked at Jack. “Is it just me, or was that a little odd?”

“Yeah, no, it was a little odd,” Jack said, just as confused as Davey. He shrugged and went back to stuffing Lucky Charms in his mouth. “You ever read this, Dave?” He asked, chewing as he spoke.

Davey peered at the cover. “ _Kill My Mother_. Uh, no, can’t say that I have. Sounds dark. Wait, hang on—” He did a quick double take. “Jules Feiffer? Isn’t he—”

“Yeah, he illustrated _The Phantom Tollbooth_ an’ about a million other things,” Jack said, turning the page. “Wild stuff in here; wish it were longer.”

“Anything to keep from doing homework, huh?” Davey said dryly.

“I already got a job an’ presented my showcase, Dave—‘s kinda hard ta be motivated now, ya know?”

“Yeah,” Davey said, “Can’t say I blame you for that.” He scribbled in another crossword answer (this time in pen) and moved on to the next clue, saying, “Hey, do you know if Kath’s landed anything yet?” Jack shrugged in response, and Davey chewed on the end of the pen as he scanned the next few lines of clues. “What’s she even looking for, anyway? I mean, I know she’s a Journalism and IR double major, but, like—is she thinking of going the government route? Think tank? Non-profit?”

“I dunno,” Jack said, shrugging. “She’s made it pretty clear she don’t wanna talk about it with me, so I dropped it.”

“Huh,” Davey said, adjusting his glasses, which he was wearing only because he’d overslept. “I can’t believe neither of us knows what Katherine’s doing after graduation.” He capped and uncapped his pen a few times, thinking through the next clue. “I’m sure whatever she’s got lined up is phenomenal,” he said absently, reaching for the pencil again.

“Yeah,” Jack said, straightening his baseball cap and returning to his book.

 

*

 

“So Davey an’ me were talkin’ the other day,” Jack said as he and Katherine waited in line at the Moe’s on campus. “An’ we realized somethin’.”

“Ooh, did you finally realize that ‘Running Errands’ would be a _terrible_ name for a bar? Because it would be, and it’s about time you saw the light on that.”

Jack knocked Katherine gently sideways with his shoulder. “Whaaaat? No! Runnin’ Errands would be a _fantastic_ name f’r a bar—people thinks you's bein' a r'sponsible adult an' you don't hafta lie about where you’s goin’! You’s just jealous you didn’t come up with it yourself, that’s all.”

“Suuuuure,” she said, smirking. 

“No, but,” Jack said, scratching at a bug bite on his arm, “We realized neither of us knows what you’s doin’ after graduation. So, Pulitzer—what grand plans d’ya got in the works? How’s you gonna change the world first? End poverty f’r ya first job, fix the ozone layer f’r ya second job?”

She turned to study the menu board, even though Jack knew she always ordered the exact same thing. “The ozone layer’s getting better,” she said. “In fact, it’s looking better than it has since 1988. So that’s good,” she said, eyes still fixed on the menu board, “Although we still have to wait another 40 years or so—at the earliest—until it’s fixed. If it’s ever fixed. I found an episode of Nova about it on YouTube—want to come over and watch it sometime?" 

“Nova? Are you kidding me?”

“Fine, I’ll ask Davey, then,” Katherine said, stepping up to the counter to order. She slid a finger under the band of her wristwatch as she did so, worrying it back and forth across a small scratch as she picked out the ingredients she wanted in her burrito. “…and extra guacamole,” she said, turning to smile at Jack. “Guacamole’s the best.”

“You have terrible taste in bar names,” Jack said, temporarily taking his attention away from the employee making his burrito, “But I hafta say, you’s got pretty good taste in food.”

 

*

 

Katherine and Jack were lying side by side on a picnic blanket by the lake, watching the clouds float. Katherine hadn’t wanted to come, but Jack had insisted. It was a beautiful afternoon, it was their last semester in college, that final paper wasn’t due for another two weeks, and she needed to take time to look at clouds instead of growing old and grey in the basement of the library.

“That one’s a rabbit on a motorcycle,” Katherine said, pointing at a wiggly blob of a cloud.

“Definitely,” Jack said. The breeze picked up, and Katherine shivered slightly. “Ya cold?” He asked.

“A little.”

“Aww, ya need more padding,” Jack said, grinning, and he rolled over to glom onto her like an octopus, wrapping his arms firmly around her and pulling her flush up against him.

“Jack!” She shrieked. “What do you think you’re—” She started giggling as he nuzzled into her neck, his hair tickling the sensitive skin under her chin. 

“I’m warmin’ ya up,” he mumbled against the top of her ribcage. “Personal space heater, reportin’ f’r duty.”

“You’re an idiot,” she said fondly, completely trapped.

“Mmm.” She felt his long eyelashes brush against her skin, and she squirmed a bit, trying to make him let go. He ignored her. “You smell good,” he murmured, and the vibration of his suddenly-husky voice made the bottom drop out of her stomach.

She was instantly hyper-aware of the softness of his hair and the roughness of the dried paint that was speckled through it, the press of his body against hers, the strength of his embrace. _Ohhhh no_ , she thought, and tried to play off her nerves by joking, “Well, I did shower.”

There was no answer. She felt Jack hold his breath for a brief second, and then… then he pressed a kiss to the top of her breastbone. It was soft and warm and sweet, it was a promise that she was good enough just as she was, it was safety and comfort and reassurance. It was more than she could handle. It was more than she deserved.  

“Hey, look at that cloud!” She yelped, jerking out of his arms and pointing at the sky. “That one—I think it’s a cactus.”

“I don’t see it,” Jack said, rolling off her and shading his eyes with a hand. “Which one?”

“Right there,” she said, pointing at the sky.

Jack pointed somewhere not quite right. “There?” He asked, his voice even. 

“No,” she said, grabbing his wrist and shifting his arm. “ _There._ ”

“Oh, I see it!” He grinned. “Yeah, ‘s like somethin’ out in Santa Fe!”

“Exactly!” She beamed, nudging his shoulder and continuing to hold his hand.

He flicked a quick glance at their joined hands and then froze. “Kath,” he said slowly, “What’s that on your wrist?”

She dropped his hand immediately and let her own arm fall as the bottom dropped out of her stomach again, although this time for a different reason. “Nothing,” she said, sitting up and rooting through the pockets of her shorts for a bracelet, a bandaid, a hair tie, anything… why had her stupid watchband had to go and snap…

He pushed himself up to sit across from her. “Hey, now, hey, it’s okay,” he said, his voice soft as he stretched out a hand. “We’re friends, remember? I’m on your side.” 

She hated that he was speaking to her like she was some sort of wounded animal, a fucking damaged charity case, but she let him take her hand anyway, and he flipped it over to examine the cuts on her wrist. They weren’t impressive, just a series of short little lines easily concealed under her watchband. She’d done it that way on purpose. ‘ _Cat scratched me,_ ’ she said to one roommate. ‘ _Papercut,_ ’ she said to another. So he wasn’t the first to have noticed them, but he was the first to put two and two together. She’d successfully hid them for weeks. She should have known he’d be the one to find her out. 

“It’s nothing,” she insisted, tugging a little in a vain attempt to free herself. 

“Like hell it’s nothing,” he said, tracing a finger over one of the older lines, which was fading into a scar. “What happened here, girlie?” He licked his lips and shook his head. “What hurt you so bad you had to let it out like this?”

She felt the tears pricking at her eyes, and then, furious with herself, she yanked her hand out of his grip. “Uh uh,” she said, her voice sounding wobbly rather than in control and righteously angry. “That’s not how this works.”

“You ain’t willin’ ta share your scars with me?” His voice was still gentle, and she clutched her arm to her chest, shaking her head rapidly as she stood and backed away from him. 

“That’s not how this works,” she whispered, and then she turned and ran.

 

*

 

Dr. Medda Larkin turned from her computer screen and adjusted her glasses. “Come in,” she said in response to the hesitant knock at her door. She stood up and smiled radiantly as soon as she saw who it was. “Jack! Get over here and gimme a hug!”

“Heya, Miss Medda,” Jack said, crossing to the other side of the desk and embracing the only woman who’d never let him down, who’d spotted him at a YMCA summer camp for troubled youth and taken him under her wing, who hadn’t been allowed to foster him but had sure as hell tried, who’d convinced him to apply for college instead of becoming a long-distance trucker the way he’d planned.

“Where you been keeping yourself, baby? It’s been a while.”

Jack had the good grace to look sheepish as he settled into the chair across from her. “Yeah. I'm sorry.”

Medda reached a hand over to him and said, “I didn’t mean it like that. I just want the scoop, that’s all. Fill me in! How are things for my best boy?” 

After a quick catch-up session that quickly turned into an hours-long conversation about everything from the Yankees’ dismal spring training performance to Russian Twitter bots, Jack finally got to the point. “So, uh, Miss Medda, I need your advice on somethin’.”

“Sure thing, baby. What’s bothering you?”

He looked down at his hands, which were clasped tightly in his lap, and started bouncing his leg. “So I got this… this, uh, this… friend, right? An’, uh, ‘m kinda worried ‘bout her.” 

Medda nodded. “Okay?”

“Right, so, uh, she, uh, she’s a senior, an’ she, uh… I think she’s havin’ a tough time with graduation comin’ up an’ all? I… I ain’t sure, but I don’t think she’s got anythin’ lined up f’r after, ya know? An’ I don’t… I don’t think she’s even been lookin’ f’r nothin’. So it’s… She’s, uh… she’s really not doin’ so good, Miss Medda.” 

“I’m sorry, baby. It’s always hard to see a friend struggle.”

“Yeah,” Jack said, brushing at his nose. “Thing is, though, I ain’t sure how ta help. I… uh… I wanna encourage her, ya know? If it’s just a confidence problem then maybe I c’n talk some sense inta her, build her up, that sorta thing, but like—I don’t wanna lead her on about her talent, either, make her think she can have somethin’ she can’t, hurt her even worse. I mean, _I_ think she’s really good, but…” He leaned forwards and gave Medda a pleading look. “I ain’t the best judge of this sorta thing, ya know? Not like you. So I was thinkin’… you’d know for sure if she’s good or not, an’… an’ you could tell me if she’s as good as I think she is, right? I gotta sample of her work right here, if ya’d just give it a quick read-through an lemme know then maybe I could help her apply f’r things, tell her she’s got a real shot, give her a bit of a boost, ya know? Hang on, lemme find it…” He bent to rummage through his backpack and pulled out the ragged copy of Katherine’s profile on him, the one with her email address scrawled in the corner. He handed it to Medda and scooted his chair in closer. “She’s real good, ain’t she? ‘S a really good piece, right? ‘S really good, Miss Medda, I’m almost sure it is, but—well, I’ll let ya read it.” 

Medda gave Jack a kind look and then glanced down at the page, knitting her brows when she saw the name at the top. She laid the pages back down and pushed it back across to him. “You know I can’t discuss my students with you, Jack,” she said, looking at him sternly.

“Your—what?” Jack said, blinking. 

“Katherine Pulitzer is one of my students,” she said, softening as she realized that he honestly hadn’t known. “I can’t talk about my students behind their backs.”

Jack’s face fell. “But… she’s really hurtin’, Miss Medda! Can’t ya please just tell me if it’s any good? I just—I just need ta know if I—” He took a shuddering breath, trying to calm himself back down. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, gripped the arms of the chair, and willed himself to breathe normally again. When he looked back up at Medda she was sitting just the same as before, her expression unchanged by Jack’s behavior, and he loved her for it. “Please, Miss Medda,” he said. “I just wanna help my… I…” His eyes flicked sideways and then back down at his hands. “I just wanna help Kath’rine, Miss Medda. An’ I don’t know how." 

“Okay, baby,” she said. “How about this. You encourage her as much as you want. You won’t be hurting her by doing that. I’ll talk to her, too, see what I can do.”

Jack sighed and scratched the back of his neck, and Medda reached to chuck him under the chin. “I know it’s hard to stand by and see someone you care about having a tough time, but don’t you make her problems your own, okay? You can’t fix her and you can’t save her, but you can be there for her. And if I know anything about you, you will be.” Jack rubbed at one eye and hung his head.

“It don’t seem like enough,” he mumbled.

Medda gave a smile that Jack didn’t see. “Just be your own sweet self with her, baby. Sounds like what she needs right now is a good friend, and you’re the best friend anyone could ask for. Just be there for her, hon. That’s enough. I promise.”

“Okay,” he said, still unconvinced. “I’ll, uh… I’ll shoot her a text, then, I guess, let her know I’m around. Maybe drop by or somethin’ if she's feelin' up ta it.”

“That’s perfect,” Medda said. “And I’ll set up a meeting with her, see if I can’t suss out what’s going on with her job hunt.”

“Thanks,” Jack said, sounding a little more hopeful. “Really, Miss Medda. Thanks a lot. You’re a peach.”

“Gimme a hug, hon,” Medda said, opening her arms for him. She squeezed him tightly and he felt his tension ease as if by magic. Medda always knew how to make him feel better.

“Okay,” he said, pulling back and adjusting his baseball cap. “I better get goin’, then. Thanks again, Miss Medda. You have a good day now.” 

“You too, baby,” she said, giving him a wave as he pulled her office door shut.

 

*

 

_Jack Kelly (10:12): Hey girlie, me + boys taking the subway out to Appalachian Trail station (hiking)_

_Jack Kelly (10:13): You in?_

_Jack Kelly (17:21): Free tonight. Dinner?_

_Jack Kelly (13:30): At the Union. Coffee’s on me. Not buyin you chips tho_

_Jack Kelly (21:45): K stop avoiding me you stubborn fuck_

_Jack Kelly (21:48): We don’t have to talk_

_Jack Kelly (21:48): We can watch dumb TV or sit an make fun of hipsters_

_Jack Kelly (21:49): Why do they like mustaches_

_Jack Kelly (21:49): Dont they know they looks like failed pornstars_

_Jack Kelly (21:53): Fuckin hipsters no one wants to drink kale pomagranite organic dirt juice_

_Jack Kelly (21:59): What the hell is a juice bar anyway why cant they go to normal bars like the rest of us_

_Jack Kelly (3:10): Would you go to a juice bar named easy peasy lemon squeezy_

_Jack Kelly (3:10): Itd serve pea juice an lemon juice_

_Jack Kelly (3:15): Maybe also grape juice that shit is good_

_Jack Kelly (3:30): Charlie says he wouldnt_

_Jack Kelly (3:30): But Charlies a mets fan so he obvs cant be trusted_

_Jack Kelly (3:35): ...settle this pls_

_Jack (14:40): ok I’m gonna leave you be but I’m here for you no questions asked_

_Jack (14:40): Any time_

_Jack(14:40): 3am_

Katherine slipped her phone back into her pocket and knocked nervously on Professor Larkin’s door. She wasn’t sure what this meeting was about; she was always the one emailing to talk to professors, not the other way around.

“Come in,” said Medda, so Katherine did. “Hello, Katherine. How are you?”

“Fine,” Katherine said, still uncertain where this was headed.

“Good,” said Medda. “So, I know you’re graduating in a few weeks, and I wanted to check in with you about your plans for afterwards. What are you thinking?” 

Katherine shifted in her seat and fiddled with a chunky bracelet on her left wrist. “I’ll probably work for my father,” she said, not meeting Medda’s eyes. 

“Really? I thought you didn’t want that.” 

Katherine shrugged. “He can give me a leg up in the business world.” 

“The business world?” Medda frowned. “You’re one of my most promising students, Katherine, and you’ve been dead-set on journalism for as long as I’ve known you—what made you change your mind?”

“Journalism is unrealistic,” she said, looking Medda straight in the eyes and steeling her voice. “There are very few positions for graduating seniors, they tend to be underpaid, and competition is fierce. With my father’s help, I can do anything—why on earth would I join a dying profession?”

“Because you love it,” Medda said simply. “Because you don’t need your father’s help.”

“I do,” Katherine snapped, and then she winced. “Sorry. That came out wrong. I… I do, though.” 

“What makes you say that?”

“He told me so,” Katherine said, spinning her bracelet around and around. 

“And you believed him?” Medda asked, leaning back in her chair. “Katherine Pulitzer, your father is a brilliant man, but he has been known to play fast and loose with the truth.”

“He told me he got me that internship with the _Times_ ,” she said dully. “He told me he got me my spot in that study abroad program. He told me that any awards I win this year would be because of his last name.” 

Medda laughed. “Well, I don’t know about that study abroad trip because I wasn’t involved, but Katherine, I am the head of this department, and trust me, if you win an award from us it will _not_ be because of your father. I run a meritocratic operation, I assure you. Furthermore,” she said, tapping her fingernails on her desk, “You got that internship in _spite_ of your father, not because of him. The _Times_ called me up after he gave them a ring. They said your résumé was stellar, but they were highly concerned about hiring you because they couldn’t be sure if your accomplishments were real or just due to your father’s name.”

Medda shook her head. “And there is no love lost between that particular editor and your father, either, so I think she also wanted to check that hiring Katherine Pulitzer would not amount to hiring a mini-Joseph.” Medda arched an eyebrow and gave Katherine a stern look. “I assured them that your work was all your own, that you really were that good, and that you would excel on your own merits, not your father’s, because that is exactly what you’ve always done.” 

Katherine blinked. “Really?”

“Really.”

“Oh.” She looked down in her lap and adjusted her skirt. “I… thanks, Dr. Larkin.”

“There’s nothing to thank me for, Katherine. You have the talent and the work ethic; all you need now is the confidence.”

“Oh.” Katherine stared at her hands and blinked back tears.

“So tell me, where are you on journalism job applications?”

“I haven’t submitted any,” Katherine said, rubbing furiously at her eyes. “And now it’s too late.”

“Nonsense,” Medda said. “There are always journalism jobs opening up. You might not get something in time to start right when you graduate, but you never know, and you certainly won’t get anything if you don’t apply. Now. I will see you next week, Katherine Pulitzer, and when I do I want you to hand me a list of ten jobs that you’ve applied for and another five that you’re looking at.”

Katherine sniffled and nodded, “Okay. I… I can do that.”

“You’re darn right you can,” Medda said. “Now get out of here and get started.”

“You got it, Dr. Larkin.” Katherine grabbed her bag and stood. “Thank you. I… um. Just… Thank you so much. Really.” 

“Happy to help, Katherine. You’re going to be an excellent journalist.”

 

*

 

_The Only Decent Pulitzer (2:22): Hey. I was shitty to you the other day, and then I got shittier by not responding to your texts. I’m sorry. Thanks for being a good friend even when I’m not. You around? Still up for hanging out with a stubborn fuck?_

_Jack Kelly (14:27): Hell yes_

_The Only Decent Pulitzer (2:28): Cool. You pick what we do. I owe you_

_Jack Kelly (14:28): Weeknd in Bali. Meet at JFK?_

_The Only Decent Pulitzer (2:29): How ab that Indonesian place on 4th?_

_Jack Kelly (14:33): K_

_The Only Decent Pulitzer (2:33): Pick you up at 7_

_Jack Kelly (14:33): Cool just enough time to do my makeup_

_Jack Kelly (14:35): Are you dressing up should i wear my little black dress_

_The Only Decent Pulitzer (2:37): Yes_

_The Only Decent Pulitzer (2:37): They won’t let you in unless you’re wearing one_

_Jack Kelly (14:38): K gotta go do laundry then. Talk later_

 

*

 

Katherine was five minutes early; Jack was five minutes late. He bounded outside, damn baseball cap firmly in place, and flashed Katherine a bright smile.

“I don’t deserve that,” she said. “I’ve been a complete ass and you just… forgive me?” 

“You was feelin’ shitty,” Jack said with a shrug. “'S long's you try not ta disappear like that again, we're good.”

She smiled back. “I had a whole apology planned.”

“Aw, Pulitzer," he said, shoving her lightly, "You’s always got stuff planned.” 

She sighed. “I wish. Lately I haven’t had anything planned at all. I, uh… There was this whole thing with my dad, and it really knocked me for a loop, so I blew off job applications and stuff, and I… I wasn’t really able to think ahead at all… It was…” She ducked her head and twisted her watch (with a new band). “It was bad, Jack. I disappeared on everyone after... after the clouds. It wasn't just you. Um. But. So. I wasn’t fair to you, and I do want to apologize to you about that. I can’t ask you to tell me things and then not be willing to do the same.” 

She unbuckled her watch and slipped it off, flipping her wrist upwards for him to see. “It started a few months after Lucy died,” she said, pointing to a faded white scar, no more than a quarter inch long. “I didn’t know how to process what had happened. I had no idea what to do. I felt so alone, and I... um… I... oh,  _f_ _uck_ , this is hard..." She ground her teeth together and tried again. "I... um.. I liked…” She squeezed her eyes shut and then said in a rush, “I liked being in control of my pain instead of at the mercy of it, so I did it and... and it felt good. So I kept going." Her eyes snapped open. "I kept _going_ , Jack! Fucking hell!Fuck, fuck, _fuck,_ that was so _fucked!_  Why did I ever _..._ Why did I think it was... I mean, who would... ah, fuck. I don't know. I really don't. I can't explain. But it felt good. It really... Yeah.” She gave a strangled laugh. “ _S_ _hit,_ Jack! I've never told anyone this before, I—" she sucked in a breath. "Oh, shiiiit, you can't tell anyone—you have to _promise_ you won't, okay? I mean—I know how fucked up it is, believe me. It’s insane. It's batshit crazy. It's fucking _nuts_. Even back then, I knew it was a bad idea, but I still… Well, it didn’t last very long, and I stopped for years, but then I… I felt so lost after what my dad said that I…” She took a deep breath and shook her head. “I’m so weak, Jack. I let him get to me when I shouldn’t have, and then… then that was the only thing I could think to do.”

He tipped her chin up and she swallowed hard, trying to hold his gaze instead of deflecting or evading whatever he did next. He gave her a tender smile as he said, “You ain’t weak, Kath’rine. Not in the slightest. Havin’ emotions don’t make ya weak, ya know. Just makes ya human.” She turned her head aside in embarrassment, but he turned it back. “Oh no you don’t, Pulitzer—I ain’t done. Look me right in the eyes, okay?” She bit her lip and looked up. “There ya go, that’s it. Now this next bit is important, so I need ya ta listen good, yeah?” She could tell that he was dead serious, so she nodded. “You ever feel like that again, you call me, okay? I don’t care how late it is, I don’t care where I am, I don’t care if we haven’t talked in years—you feel like that, you call me. Call me ‘fore you do _anything_. I mean it. You. Call. Me. First. Okay?”

She nodded.

“You promise?” 

She nodded, and then a twinkle entered her eye as she turned to spit in her hand. “Promise.”

He grinned, returned the spit shake, and wrapped her in a tight hug, rocking her from side to side. “Atta girl, Pulitzer. You’ll win out, girlie, just wait an' see.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. I love these two kiddos so much 2. This fic is getting absurdly long geez 3. Chapters are not supposed to be this long but this one IS
> 
> Will Shortz = editor of the _New York Times_ ' crossword  
> Holler if you got the crossword clue that made Kath leave :)  
>  _Kill My Mother_ is very weird. I love Jules Feiffer, though.  
>  IR = International Relations  
> The ozone facts are true. I don't know if there's a Nova episode on it, however.  
> Part of the Appalachian Trail is accessible via one of the NYC public transit lines  
> JFK = JFK Airport in NYC  
> Yes there is an Indonesian place on 4th
> 
> Thank you guys so much for reading and leaving kudos and comments-- this has been *such* a welcome and encouraging outlet for me, and it warms my heart to see people having fun reading this story (heaven knows I am having fun writing it :) ) 
> 
> Tell me what you think! <333


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jack is proud of Katherine and then Katherine is proud of Jack

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the next chapters are taking this beyond their college graduation and checking in with them every so often to hit the plot points I want to cover. The first part of this chapter takes place in November after graduation; the second part is the following June, a year after they've graduated.

**November**

“Hello?”

“Jack!”

Jack winced at Katherine’s loud enthusiasm and held the phone a few inches away from his ear. “Ouch. What’s gotcha so excited?”

“I got a _job!_ ”

This time it was Jack’s turn to yell. “ _Pulitzer!_ That’s great!”

“I knoooooow!”

Jack smiled into his hand as he heard her feet hippy-hopping up and down in excitement. “So what kinda job is it?”

“Junior editor!” She squealed, damaging his eardrum yet again. “I’ll get to read all the unsolicited pitches, select the best ones, and work with the authors to publish them in our online magazine!” 

“Fuck, girlie, that’s fantastic! You’s gonna be so good at that!”

“I _am!_ ” He hadn’t thought Katherine’s voice could go any higher, but clearly it could. “I start next week! And they said once I’ve settled in, they’ll let me start writing my own pieces, too! It’s the best of both worlds, Jackie! I’m so happy I could cry!”

Jack laughed. “I don’t think I’ll ever understand ya, but if you wanna cry, go right ahead.” 

“I’m going to!” She announced. “I’ve earned it. Seven months of unemployment—” 

“ _Fun_ employment,” Jack corrected her, and he swore he heard her roll her eyes through the phone.

“This is not the time for pun employment, asshole. I’ve got a _job_!” 

“You say that, an’ yet ya can’t resist making a joke of your own,” he noted, clearly amused.

“Hey now, that one was pretty good,” she said. “Way better than yours—you didn’t even come _up_ with yours.” 

Jack grunted. 

“ _Anyway_ ,” Katherine said, the glee back in her voice, “Now that I’m gainfully employed, it’s my turn to invite _you_ out to eat!”

“Celebratory dinner?” Jack said, rifling through his pockets for a pen to scribble down the date and time. “I’m there. I’m free Friday night and Sunday afternoon, an’ next week I should be able ta do Wednesday and Friday.” 

“This Friday at Andre’s, then,” Katherine said. “There is no way I can wait until next week to talk your ear off about all this!” 

“An' I can’t wait that long ta hear about it,” Jack said, beaming out the window of the company’s open-plan office. “See ya soon, K.”

“Bye, Jack!”

 

*

 

They’d plowed through their meal and started on dessert (chestnut puree for Katherine, Hungarian crepes for Jack) when Jack made a noise and hoisted his leg up to land in Katherine’s lap. 

“What the hell, Jack?” 

“Roll my sock down real quick.” 

“ _What_?” 

“Oh, c’mon, ya ain’t eatin’ with your fingers, an’ they’s clean socks, too.” She gave him a look, and he gestured impatiently with his fork. “Well, they were this mornin’, anyway.” 

“Will you get your foot out of my crotch if I look at your stupid ankle?”

“Yup.” 

She rolled her eyes and sighed. “Fine.” She rolled down the worn cotton and sucked in a breath at the shiny scar she saw there. She brushed her fingers over the smooth patch of skin on his ankle, maybe half the size of a playing card, and then he dropped his leg back under the table. “Tell me the story?” She asked, resting her head on one hand and leaning in. 

“Thought you’d like that,” he said, grinning. “It’s a first job scar, girlie. Mind you don’t get one, too, okay? Hey, think we c'n get the waiter back over here so's I c'n get a beer?” 

“Jack!” She reached across the table to steal a piece of one of his crepes. “You can’t leave it there. I need the _full_ story.” 

He settled back in his seat and relaxed into storytelling mode. “So when I was twelve, I decided it was about time for me to get a job.”

“At age _twelve_?”

“That’s what I said, didn't I?”

“That’s just pretty young.” 

Jack shrugged. “Well, I’ve always been ahead of the curve.” 

“I think you missed the curve and shot off onto your own private road,” she said, eating another mouthful of chestnuts. 

“Ya wanna hear the story or not?” He sounded grumpy, but she knew he was amused.

“Yes. Sorry. Yes. Please continue.”

“Okay then.” He started to tip his chair back on two legs and then caught himself. They were in a restaurant, after all. “Problem was, weren’t nobody wanted to hire a 12-year-old.”

“Shocker,” she commented, and he gave her a glare. “Sorry! I’ll be quiet, I promise. Keep going!”

He crossed his arms, huffed, and then obliged her. “ _So_ , Chatty Kathy, I got one o’ my older buddies ta get hired in my place. Figured they’d hire this kid, an’ then if I show up ta do the actual work, well, what's the difference? No one likes bein’ short-staffed, so seemed ta me they’d hafta let me work until someone else showed up ta take my spot, an’ by then they’d know I was a good worker what could handle the respons’bility an’ stuff.” 

“How’d that go?” She asked, taking a sip of her after-dinner coffee.

“Poorly,” he said, laughing. “Got thrown outta two pizza joints, one Mickey D’s, an’ a Game Stop that way. I was a scrawny 12-year-old, too, ain’t no way I was ever gonna fool no one.” 

“So what’d you do?” Katherine asked, resisting the urge to clean her plate off with her finger. 

“Got a job where no one’d see me,” he said proudly. “Got m’buddy ta pick up a paper route for me, in fact. Hardly anybody’s up early ta peep who’s tossin’ a pape at their door, an’ even if they are, ‘s long’s the paper shows up, they ain’t really gonna care how short the deliveryman is.”

“Smart,” she said, impressed in spite of herself. 

“Mhmm,” he said, munching on another mouthful of crepe. “Unfortunately f’r me, I realized there weren’t no way I was gonna be able ta d’liver all those papers on time by walkin’. I needed a bike. But I didn’t have the money ta buy a bike until I earned money from deliverin’ the papes I needed the bike ta deliver.” 

“Catch-22,” she commented.

“ ‘S a good book,” Jack said, and she nodded.

“What happened next?” She asked, pushing the rest of her dessert across to him. She’d never had much of a sweet tooth. 

“Borrowed a bike from a pal,” he said, wiping cream away from his mouth. “An’ that meant the papes got there on time, but it’s also what got me that scar on my ankle.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Stop spinning this out, Kelly—just tell me already.” 

“All right, all right,” he said, holding up his hands as if he were being frog-marched out of the restaurant. “So I was ridin’ my friend’s bike for a coupla weeks, things was fine, but it were kinda big f’r me, ya know? Couldn't reach the ground t'stop myself, always had ta hop off the bike. So I was pedalin’ along one mornin’ an’ this dumb squirrel ran out right in front of the bike, yeah? I tried ta stop an' hop off an swerve all at once, an, well, I didn't really manage any of it. The leg of my pants got caught in the chain of the bike an’ I went head over heels onta the pavement. Skinned my hands an’ knees up pretty bad, tore all the skin off that side of my ankle, bled all over some o’ the papes—” 

“You don’t have to go into _that_ much detail,” she said, wincing.

He smirked. “Okay, I'll stop. Point is, make sure ya don't fall offa any bikes while you’s editin’, alright? It hurts.”

She laughed and nodded. “Fountain of wisdom over here. Thanks, bud.”

“Anytime.”

 

*

 

**June (one year after graduating)**

“So what’s new with you?” Katherine asked, swiping her transit pass over the scanner and following Jack through the MTA turnstile.

“Big news!” Jack said, clapping her on the back and letting her go first on the escalator. “I’m movin’ inta my own place!”

“No way!” Katherine turned around to beam up at him. “Oh, Jack, that’s fantastic!” 

“Yeah,” he said, his eyes bright. “No more shitty roommates f’r this kid!”

“That's so exciting,” she said, grabbing his hand and giving it a squeeze (hugs were dangerous on escalators). “Are you having a housewarming party?” 

“Race insisted,” Jack said, sounding annoyed. “I’m sure he just wants ta get drunk somewhere new f’r a change, but whatever, kid’s about ta start his senior year, ‘s stressful, if he wants ta blow off steam like that then that’s okay by me.”

Katherine frowned slightly. “He’s legal, right?”

“Are you seriously— _yes_ , Pulitzer, ‘course he’s legal. Fuck, I ain’t lookin’ ta get arrested f’r servin’ alc’hol ta minors! I ain’t a moron.”

“Just checking,” she said, not at all apologetic.

He rolled his eyes. “Whatever. You’re invited.”

“Do I get the grand tour?”

He grinned. “Of all two rooms ‘n the bathroom? You bet.”

“Perfect.”

 

*

 

The housewarming party ended up being exactly what Jack had expected—an excuse for his rowdy friends to get drunk somewhere they hadn't previously christened with spilled beer and stupid drinking games. They were really going for it, too, so by the time Katherine arrived, most of the boys had already reached the yelly, roughhousing stage of inebriation. And although Katherine loved the boys, she didn’t love being accidentally jostled and bumped as they celebrated someone’s beer pong victory, tried to take retribution for an unexpected wet willie, or shoved each other out of the way to get a better view of Spot’s keg stand technique.

Still, she’d promised to come, so here she was. “Hey, Jack,” she called, waving across the crowded room and trying to get his attention.

He gave her a nod of recognition and made some gestures and faces, clearly indicating that as much as he’d like to go over and greet her, he was well and truly stuck on the opposite side of his apartment. Too many people, too little space. New York apartments were not designed to host house parties. Well, not the kind of apartments in Jack's price range, anyway. She pushed her way through to the kitchen to leave her housewarming present on the counter and made a quick exit. It had been a long week at work, and she wasn’t really interested in spending the night watching Race drape himself all over everyone or Albert trying to get people to arm wrestle him.

 

_The Only Decent Pulitzer (10:04): Hey gonna go sorry_

_The Only Decent Pulitzer (10:05): Got time later this weekend for the grand tour?_

_Jack (2:45): sighm do runk hahahaha lets meet sun_

_Jack (2:48): youre so preyyttty fuckkjkkk_

_The Only Decent Pulitzer (8:30): You’re too old to be drunk texting_

_The Only Decent Pulitzer (8:31): But I’ll see you Sunday afternoon. Church gets out at 12ish, I'll swing by after_

*

 

Jack finished the apartment tour he hadn’t gotten to give her at the housewarming party and threw himself onto the couch, patting the seat next to him. “C’mere, girlie. ‘S all new furniture, too.”

“Ooh, very nice,” she said, settling down and pulling her legs up under her. “I’m hurt you didn’t ask me to go shopping with you,” she teased. (Katherine hated shopping, and they both knew it.) “We could’ve had so much fun bickering about decorating schemes!”

He tipped his head back against the couch and laughed. “And had the shop assistants in a tizzy tryna decide who wore the pants in our nonexistent relationship so they’d know who ta give the hard sell?”

“Exactly,” she said. “Though it’d be me, obviously.”

Jack smirked. “You sure about that?” He said, stretching his arm out across the back of the couch and tossing his cap onto the coffee table. “Damn,” he muttered, watching the cap slide off the edge and onto the floor.

“One hundred percent sure,” Katherine said. “You’re tough, but I’m bossy _and_ beautiful. I always get my way. No way you’d be able to withstand my charm.”

“Oh, I think I’d manage okay,” he said, turning to her and tapping her gently on the nose. “Girls melt at my touch, Pulitzer. You’d be putty in my hands.”

“That so?” She said, leaning in, a seductive half-smile on her face. 

“Yeah,” he said, gripping the back of the couch tightly as he realized how close she’d gotten.

She raised her eyebrows in skepticism, ran one finger down his chest, and then bent to kiss his neck, sucking on it a little for good measure. She smiled at the gasp she drew from him and kissed her way down to his collarbone before sitting back and laying her hands flat on his pecs. “Do you want to reconsider?” 

“No,” he said, his voice rough. “I… I think I need some more convincing.”

“Hmm,” she said, tilting her head in consideration. “How about this, then.”

Jack’s eyes fluttered shut as she grabbed his shirt and pulled him in for a passionate kiss. And he knew it was wrong, because she was just playing, but he couldn’t help himself; he opened his mouth, wanting more of her. And—oh, _fuck_ —she responded. He let her set the pace, his legs trembling slightly, and—shit, where had she learned to kiss like this? She was _incredible_. It didn’t make sense, because she hadn’t had a boyfriend in all the time he’d known her, and—wait, had he ever even seen her on a date? He couldn’t think of one, but come on, this was Katherine, and who wouldn’t want _Katherine_? She was the total package. In fact, she was so far out of his league he couldn’t believe this was happening. Surely— 

She refocused his attention on her by pressing in even tighter. _Ohhhhh shit_ , he thought, his heart thumping so fast he thought it might burst. Well, he was fucked. Utterly, royally fucked. _Goodbye, cruel world_ , he thought crazily, trying to hang on to reality. No doubt about it, this was how it ended. This was it for him. Good way to go, all things considered. Fuck, had he known that kissing could be this nice? He was dissolving under her tongue and her lips and the taste of the mint she’d popped after brunch and—wait, had she planned this, the little minx?

Ah, fuck it, he didn’t care if she had; he just wanted her to keep going. He scooted closer, caressing her cheek with one hand and using the other to grip her waist and keep her seated on his couch. She responded by curling her hands in his hair, tugging gently as she sucked at his lower lip. “Fuck,” he whispered, and she smiled into the kiss before adding her teeth to the mix. _That_ just about killed him. He moaned in pleasure, and she redoubled her efforts, both of them breathing hard and fumbling with each other’s shirts. 

He’d managed to undo the top three buttons of her blouse when she shifted her attention to his ears and neck, and—holy _hell_ , had she _known_ how sensitive he was behind his ears? Oh, fuuuck, that felt good. He wanted to chase her lips, to whimper and beg her to bring her mouth back to his, but he was too busy thrumming with lust under the heat of her kisses on his neck and the pressure of her hands on his biceps. Why didn’t she touch him like this all the time, this was bliss, and he—wait, what was she—oh, _fuck_ , holy _shit_ , this was the best he’d felt in weeks, no, in months… he tilted his head sideways to give her better access to his neck and groaned, feeling the front of his jeans growing tight.

She laughed and kept kissing him, returning to his mouth and teasing him with nibbles and tugs and pressure until he was so aroused he could barely think. He leaned back against the couch cushions and she crawled on top of him, absolutely relentless. Jack thought he might be going mad as he laid there on his couch, dizzy and overheated, not quite able to believe that Katherine Pulitzer – _Katherine Pulitzer, fucking hell!_ – was kissing him senseless.

His breaths were coming short and fast now, and the buzz in his ears was so loud that he couldn’t even hear the gorgeous noises she was making while wringing every last bit of coherence out of him. He moaned again and, tired of the comparative chasteness of her ministrations, slipped his hand up her skirt. 

She laughed and shoved his hand away, climbing off him to stand next to the couch, arms folded. “I win,” she said, wiping her lips and deftly redoing her hair in a perfect Barbie ponytail. 

Jack just lay there, eyes closed, panting; he wasn’t capable of speech yet. She smirked and went to the kitchen, opening cabinets until she found where he kept the cups and mugs. She pulled out two glasses and filled them with water before returning to the living room and pressing one into his hand. “In place of a cold shower,” she said archly.

“Fuck you,” he managed, somehow gathering the presence of mind to tug a blanket off the back of the couch and fling it over his lap.

She just giggled –fuck, even _that_ was sexy, it wasn't _fair_ – and sat down in a Bauhaus-style chair on the other side of the coffee table. “Don’t blame me, Kelly—you know I’m competitive.” 

He snorted and threw an arm over his eyes. “Yeah, but—fuckin’ _hell_ , Pulitzer.” 

“That good, huh?” She took a nonchalant sip of her water.

He made an inarticulate noise before turning to look at her through narrowed eyes. “Some friend _you_ are,” he grumbled. “Gettin’ me all riled up like that.” 

A panicked look swept across her face and she leaned forwards in her chair. “We _are_ friends, though, aren’t we? Did… did I ruin it?”

Jack’s face softened. “Naaaah,” he said, waving a hand at her before letting it flop back onto the back of the couch. “It’d take a lot more’n that ta ruin what we got, girlie. An’ we ain’t never had a normal friendship, anyway, so why start now?”

She relaxed visibly and shot him a grateful smile. “Good. Okay. Cool. I… I just I couldn’t help myself.”

“Oh, so my roguish charm an’ boyish good looks got to ya after all?” He teased. She just rolled her eyes.

They sat and drank their water for a minute, letting the silence settle. Then Katherine shifted awkwardly in her chair and switched her glass of water from one hand to the other. “But, um, just so we’re clear—we… we _are_ friends, right? _Just_ friends?” 

He felt his stomach flip. Was this a test? Was she asking him for real? If he said no, could he have more? He wanted more, he had since the second or third time they'd met, but—if he said no when he should’ve said yes, would he drive her away forever? His blood ran cold at the thought, and that settled it for him. Life without Katherine was not an option. He’d played with this idea before, and he’d abandoned it every single time. As much as he wanted her, he knew that he scared her off, if she left… well. He couldn’t bear it.

 _Say no_ , a part of him urged, but he shoved the thought aside. That was the stupid part of him, he knew that; that impulse was the little demon that drove him to drink too much and stay up too late and bite people’s heads off for no reason at all, the inner voice that goaded him to do things that would only cause him pain _,_ the reckless side of himself that he'd spent the last year and a half learning how to control. And he couldn’t listen to it. He couldn’t.

He couldn’t say no, because he couldn’t lose her.

He couldn’t fucking lose her.

“Yeah,” he said, giving her a wink and a relaxed smile. “Just friends. I like us like this. Wouldn’t change a thing.” _Liar_ , he thought. But that was okay; he’d always been a liar. And a good one, too. She’d never know.

“Yeah. Cool. Me either,” she said firmly, tracing a finger around the rim of her glass. “I, uh… I’m going to head out now, okay? Thanks… thanks for the tour. Congrats on the apartment, Jack. It’s a beautiful place.”

 _It’s more beautiful when you’re here_ , he wanted to say, but _fuck_ , Jack, that was cheesy as hell. And not only that—it would undercut everything he’d just told her about their friendship, because he _knew_ he wasn’t going to be able to say those words to her with the necessary amount of humor. Not when he felt like this. Not when he _meant_ it. So he just nodded. “Dinner on Tuesday?”

“Yeah,” she said, sending him a warm smile. She slipped on her shoes, opened his front door, and waved goodbye. “Enjoy the rest of your weekend, Jack.”

He nodded and closed his eyes as he heard the door click shut. _Fuck, Jack_ , he thought. _You’re screwed_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Andre's Café is a cute little Hungarian place.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which I throw up a roadblock that you are not going to like.

**January of the next year, they’re both 24 now**

Jack thought that spending time with Katherine was getting less and less fun. 

“Have you seen the latest Marvel movie? Sylvain said it’s really good.”

“Sorry, I can’t on Saturday; I’ve got plans with Sylvain. Maybe Sunday?” 

“Ooh, Biscuits and Brews, can we stop here really quickly? Sylvain says the lattes here are to _die_ for.”

“Hey, could we put the French subtitles on when we watch Netflix tonight? Sylvain’s been teaching me bits and pieces, so I’m trying to practice where I can.” 

“I’d love to come! Is it okay if Sylvain joins? He really likes that band.” 

And then, after months of biting his tongue, came the straw that broke the camel’s back: 

“Sylvain made this amazing dinner last week, and—holy fudge muffins, Jack—I didn’t know home cooking could _taste_ that good! I mean, whenever you and I make stuff together it’s a disaster—we burn half of it, oversalt the other half, and end up buying takeout pizza. Every single time! I think we’ve gotten takeout from every pizza joint in this city. Sylvain, though—I swear, the man is a _wizard_ in the kitchen. I’ve never seen anything like it.” 

Jack glared at his shoes as he walked through Central Park with Katherine. “I _like_ takeout pizza,” he muttered under his breath. “New York’s famous f’r its pizza; we might as well eat it.” 

“What’s that?” Katherine asked, a buoyant look on her face. 

“I _said_ , you’d think Sylvain was your _boyfriend_ , the way ya goes on about him.” 

Katherine blushed. “Well…” 

Jack’s eyes widened and he stopped in his tracks. “Wait. He’s actually… he’s your boyfriend?”

She ducked her head and nodded.

“And you didn’t _tell_ me?” Jack’s eyes flashed with something Katherine couldn’t quite interpret.

She looked up at him, clearly a little embarrassed, and raised her hands in a helpless gesture. “It wasn’t official until last week,” she said, pushing out her lower lip. “And I haven’t _seen_ you since then!”

“We talk on the phone most every day,” Jack pointed out. “Ya could’ve told me that way!”

“I knoooooow,” she said, clapping her gloved hands over her eyes, “I’m sorry!”

“Ya gots ta tell me these things, Kath!” He said, wanting to shake her but not wanting to upset himself even further by touching someone he could never, ever have. 

“I know,” she said, lowering her hands and giving him a pleading look. “I should have, I really should have, but… Well, he’s my first real boyfriend, Jack, and I… I keep feeling like any minute it’s going to come crashing down around my ears?” She bit her lip and shook her head slightly. “I know it’s dumb, but I felt like if I kept it quiet then maybe he and I could… could live in a bubble somehow? That… that it would stay a fairytale, that he wouldn’t get tired of me, that I could just hold it to myself at night and smile and not have to…” Her voice dropped, and he had to bend to hear her. “I thought if I just kept it between him and me then it wouldn’t be all the way real, and I… I wouldn’t have to worry about when it would start to hurt.”

Jack melted. “Oh, girlie,” he said, wrapping her in a tight hug. “He ain’t gonna get tired of you. No one could. That brain of yours fires shots faster than Annie Oakley in her heyday. If anyone’s gettin’ tired of anyone, it’ll be _you_ gettin’ bored of _him_.” He felt her cuddle closer against his chest, and he pressed his nose to her hair, adding, “An’ if he hurts ya, I’m gonna march right over there an’ give him what-for.” He frowned and then pushed her back just a little to look her in the eyes. “He’s French?” 

She nodded.

He laughed and pulled her back in. “Fuck, then I don’t even need ta see him ta know that I c’n take him.”

She made a noise of protest and freed an arm to smack him weakly on the back.

“Your Frenchie teach you those fightin’ skills, Pulitzer?” He asked, letting her go and giving her a cheeky wink.

“Asshole,” she said, shoving him lightly.

“An’ proud of it,” he said. “You’ll want an asshole on your side if someone needs beatin’ up.”

“There will be no beating _anyone_ up, Jack! Physical violence is a crutch for the uninspired,” she said primly, sticking her nose in the air.

He guffawed. “Where do you _get_ these phrases? Your brain’s gotta be a weird place.”

She laughed. “You’re not wrong.” She grinned at him and slipped her arm through his. “Takeout pizza for dinner?”

“Perfect.”

 

*

 

**May**

_Oh Jackie boy, your friends, your friends are calling; pick up the phone, and stop being a diiiiiick_

Jack groaned and slapped his hand on the nightstand, knocking a cup of water and three pens onto the floor. 

_We know you’re there—you always have your phone, Jack; so take our calls, you shit, you’re such a priiiick_

Jack finally flopped his arm in the right spot to grab his phone and brought it to his ear without even looking at the name on the screen. “Fuckin’ hell, Racer, where I gotta bail ya out from this time, idiot?” 

“No, it’s me,” came a timid voice.

Jack snapped fully awake, feeling like he’d been doused with ice water. “What’s wrong?”

Katherine’s tone was shaky. “Sylvain and I had a fight. Jack, I—I can’t be alone right now. I might… I want to…” 

He heard a sob and then a muffled noise. “Pulitzer?”

 _Click_.

“Fuck, fuck, _fuck,_ ” he muttered, frantically calling her back. “Pick up, pick up, come on, pick up the fuckin’ phone…” He growled when there was no answer. “No, no, nuh uh, no way, I ain’t lettin’ you do this, girlie, no way…” He fought his way out from under his top sheet and bent down to grab a soft cotton t-shirt off the floor. He hoped it wasn’t one he’d worn to the gym—it shouldn’t be, he did usually remember to toss those straight into the hamper—but he didn’t care overmuch if it was. He had to get to Katherine as fast as possible, and it didn't matter if he smelled like a sock while doing it. He jammed his feet into his sneakers, snatched his keys and wallet off the kitchen counter, and pounded down the stairs of his apartment building.

There wasn’t any cell reception in the stairwell of his building, but as soon as he was out on the nearly-empty street he hit the redial button. This time she picked up.

“Kitty! Hey, baby—hang on, okay? I’m comin’. Talk ta me?” 

He heard soft crying noises down the line and then some faint noises that might have been the beginnings of words, but he wasn’t sure. 

“Okay, girlie, you hang on, you just hang on, ‘m on my way, I gotcha, I just—don’t do nothin’ until I get there, okay? C’n ya promise me that? Just wait half an hour f’r me?” 

She gave him a noise that sounded like she was agreeing with him, and he latched onto it. “Okay, baby, that’s good. You gimme thirty minutes—twenty-nine, now, ‘s not gonna be long, I promise—an’ I’ll be there an’ we’ll figure this out. Okay?” He kicked himself. She’d shown she wasn’t up for talking right now. So he answered his own question. “Okay.” He pulled out his transit card and barreled down into the subway station. “I gotta hang up on ya, babe, ain’t no service down here, but I’ll be on the train in a coupla minutes an’ then I’ll be there ‘fore you know it. Just sit tight. Just hold on.”

He did indeed lose service as he ran from the first escalator onto the next. “Fuckin’ MTA, fuck fuck fuck be on time for once, oh fuck, come _on_ ,” he whispered under his breath as he hopped over the last three steps and skidded onto the platform. His luck held, and the night train screeched into the station. Katherine had timed her breakdown well, he mused, jiggling his leg as he sat down on the sticky plastic seats. 

It seemed like forever until he was up on the street again, unlocking his phone and calling her again and again and again and no answer, _shit_ , _come on, Katherine, why aren’t you answering_ , but he refused to let himself think about what that meant, and he didn’t care if he woke her roommate up by pressing the downstairs buzzer too many times, _come on, Katherine, pick up the phone or open the door or—oh thank heavens_ , there went the buzzer, and he dashed into the elevator and spent the entire ride up drumming his hands on the wall, willing the elevator to go faster, because come _on_ , he had somewhere to _be_ …

Her apartment door was unlocked, and he flew through it without even knocking. “Katherine!” He called in a stage whisper, shutting the door behind him and running into her room, where she was lying sideways on her bed, fully clothed, clutching her knees to her chest. “Kitty, baby, oh, shh, c’mere,” he crooned, lying down next to her and tugging her close so that her knees were pressed against his stomach. 

She dropped her hands from her face and hugged him, clutching him so tightly that he was pretty sure she’d leave bruises. 

“Jack,” she said, her voice shaking. “I ruined everything, Jack, just the way I always do, I… I don’t deserve him, I never did…”

Jack pressed a kiss to her hair and rubbed her back. “Kitty, baby, now that just ain’t true.”

“It _is_ ,” she said, shivering slightly from crying. “I’m too sharp, I cut everyone I love to shreds, I should never have gotten close to him like that, he gave me the tools I needed to hurt him and I _took_ them! I took them, I… I was so mad that I just…” she tugged out of Jack’s grip and turned to face the wall. “I really want to hurt myself the way I hurt him, and I was going to do it, too,” she said dully, “But I promised you I’d call you first. And so I did. I actually did. I called you. I did. So. You can leave now.” 

“But I ain’t gonna,” he said, reaching to lay a hand on her shoulder. “Hand me the razorblade, love,” he said, flinching at the term of endearment and wishing he could take it back. He wasn’t sure if it was pure relief or bitter disappointment he was feeling when she didn’t react to that. All she did was shake her head.

“Baby,” he said softly, “Ya don’t wanna do this. You’s been doin’ so good lately, you just hang on another hour an’ it’ll pass, okay?” He squeezed her shoulder gently. “Gimme the razor, Kitty.” 

She shuddered, shook her head, and then sighed. “It’s on my desk,” she whispered, pointing to the opposite corner of the room.

Jack got up, slipped it into an inside pocket of his wallet, and laid back down next to her, pulling her in close once more. “You wanna talk about it?” 

“I fucked up,” she said, and the lack of emotion in her voice hurt Jack worse than when she’d sounded scared. “I can’t tell you the specifics because they’re not mine to share, but… it was bad, Jack. Really bad. So it’s over now. It has to be.”

“I did some real bad stuff ta you back in the day an’ we’s still friends,” Jack pointed out.

“That was different. You weren’t… we weren’t… I hardly knew you then.”

Jack sighed. “Well, he cares about ya, right?”

“He used to,” she said, closing her eyes. “But then he said some things, and I hit back harder." She gave a bitter laugh. "That’s how you do things in my family—when someone goes after you, you knock them down and make damn sure they aren’t going to be getting back up.”

“I understand that,” Jack said. “ ‘S human.”

“But it’s not right.”

“No,” he agreed. “But you c’n apologize.” _Fuck, Jack, why are you trying to save her relationship? You hate that bastard._ He wanted to shut up and leave this mess be, see if maybe she’d give him a shot once she’d had time to recover from the breakup, but… he couldn’t. He’d hate himself if he did that. She liked this dumb French guy, and it wasn't Sylvain's fault that Jack hadn't made a move earlier.

Jack cursed himself internally for his next words, but—well, he had to say them. He had to. His heart belonged to Katherine, even if hers belonged to someone else, and anything that hurt her made him ache, too. So yeah, this next bit was going to hurt like a bitch, but he’d do anything he could to keep her from feeling as low as he did when she looked at Sylvain. _That smug asshole_ , he thought. _Fuck him_. Then Jack steeled himself and said it. 

“He’s a good man, Kitty.” And he was. Jack hated him for it, but he was. He was smart and kind and crazy about Katherine. And as protective as Jack was of his girl – _she ain’t your girl, idiot, ya gotta stop thinking that way_ – even he could see that Sylvain was good for her. She’d been laughing more and worrying less since they'd started dating, and she’d even managed to shrug off some low blows from her father that Jack knew about only because the publishing world was a small one and Pulitzer’s meddling made for excellent gossip. Jack patted Katherine on the back and said firmly, “You give him a real sincere apology an’ promise ta do better next time, an’ trust me, if he loves ya then he ain’t gonna turn that down.”

“We haven’t talked about love,” she muttered. “It’s too early for that.”

“Okay, fine,” Jack said with a sigh. “He ain’t gonna turn that down if he wants ta be with ya, then.” 

“Right.”

He decided to try a little humor. “In the biblical way, I mean.”

It worked. “Jack!” She yelped, flipping over to glare at him. “We are _not_ discussing that.”

“Ooooo, so ya done it already?” He wiggled his eyebrows at her, looking goofy even as his stomach twisted into knots.

“ _No!_ ” She shoved him in the chest, although it didn’t have much of an effect. “And don’t you go telling the boys that we have, either! They give me enough grief as it is, I don’t want my sex life –or lack thereof– up for discussion.”

“Got it,” he said, trying to cover his relief with smugness. 

“Well, I don’t feel as numb now,” she said wryly. “You’re an expert at getting a rise out of me.”

“Just one of my many talents,” he said. “But honestly, Kitty, you go apologize an’ I think you’ll work through whatever it is happened tonight.” 

She sighed and scooted closer to him, holding her arms out so that he would hug her. “I know,” she said, pressing into his chest. “It’s just… relationships are hard, Jack.”

 _Ours isn’t_ , Jack thought. _Ours comes easy_. “Yeah,” he said. “But you want it bad enough, you make it work.”

She hummed and nodded. They lay there a minute, Jack’s arms still tightly wrapped around Katherine. Then she took a deep breath and asked, “Do you really think he’ll forgive me? I mean, he was rotten, but I was worse.” 

“I highly doubt that you was worse,” Jack said, “But even if ya was, he’ll forgive ya. I mean, I would, an’ he’s loads better’n me.” 

“No,” Katherine said automatically. “He’s nicer, yes, but he’s not better. I don’t know anyone better than you.” She shifted in the bed and continued. “You aren’t always nice,” she said, sounding absent, “But you _are_ always good. And just because you’d forgive me doesn’t mean he will,” she said, a little forlorn. “I mean, come on—I’ve never met someone who forgives people as easily and unconditionally as you do.” She gave a short laugh. “Fuck, Jack, if I were dating you, that fight would never have happened. You’d’ve known I was in a bad mood and either left me alone or cheered me up. You’re miles better at reading me than he is, that’s for sure.”

Jack’s gut twisted. Damn, was she _trying_ to break him? _He_ thought he was better with Katherine than Sylvain was, but if _she_ thought that, too, then why the hell were they doing this dance? _Ah, shit. Deflect, Jack_. “Yeah, well, not ev’ryone’s as skilled with women an’ shit as I am,” he joked.

“Mmm,” she said, tucking her head under his chin and lacing her words with sarcasm. “That’s true. You’re _very_ good with women and shit, Jack.”

“Duh.” 

They laid there in silence for a while, Jack trying to stay awake as the adrenaline left his system. Fuck, he was tired. It had to be at least 3:30am, and that was a time he’d hoped never to see again; he’d been perfectly content to leave it behind in the college art studio. He’d long since abandoned the all-hours schedule he’d somehow maintained back then in favor of a much more sensible timetable, but oh well. This time he was awake for Katherine, so it was worth it.

Eventually, he heard her breathing begin to even out, and he gradually loosened his arms so as not to wake her up with any sudden movements. He waited a little while longer until he was sure she was out, figuring he’d finish the night in his own bed and text her to let her know he’d headed home. “I’m gonna go, then,” he said softly, certain she was already dreaming. “Gonna letcha get some sleep.” 

There was no response until he pulled his arms away and started to sit up to leave. As soon as he moved back from her, though, her eyes began to flick back and forth underneath her eyelids, and she made a frightened noise of protest. “No no no don’t go please don’t go,” she gabbled, clutching him tightly. “Don’t leave me, please don’t leave me, oh, _please_! You can’t leave me all alone, you _can’t_! You’re leaving me, you’re _leaving_ me, oh no, oh no no no _no_ —”

“Okay,” he interrupted, thoroughly startled. “Shh, now. Deep breaths.” He tried to loose her grip from his shirt, but she wasn’t having it. He looked at her closely, wondering just how awake she was, trying to tell if this was a conscious response or something deeper. Her eyes were still closed, so… a vivid dream, maybe? “Okay, Kitty,” he said, brushing the backs of his fingers against her cheek and resettling himself on the mattress. “Calm down. I’ll stay.”

“Don’t go! Don’t go, don’t go, please don’t leave me, oh no, _please_ … please don’t leave me alone…” she begged, her voice heavy with sleep as she clung to the front of his t-shirt. It wasn’t until Jack wrapped his arms back around her and cradled her to him that she began to quiet, but as soon as he did, she cooed in contentment and stilled again.

He laid there listening to her breathe, wondering (and not for the first time) what on earth was going on in that head of hers. He sighed. “Fuckin’ hell, Pulitzer,” he whispered, settling his head against her hair. “I really can’t figure you, you know that?”

Katherine smiled in her sleep and made several unintelligible sounds before saying three clear words that pierced Jack to the core. “I love you,” she murmured, and made a kissing motion with her lips before rolling over onto her right side.

He felt himself run completely cold before heating up hotter than the sun. “Ah, _fuck_ ,” Jack said, running a hand through his hair and hoping his heart would start beating again soon. He knew she hadn’t meant it, but damn did he wish she had. He squeezed his eyes shut and gritted his teeth. “You’s gonna kill me, girlie. You really is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hugs and hellos to you, dear readers! Tell me what you thought, por favor! <3


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jack and Kath take a trip and Kath learns a secret.

**September (age 25)**

“Guess who?” 

“Kath’rine, you’re callin’ me on my cell phone. From your cell phone. Are you serious right now?” 

Katherine sighed dramatically. “Ugh, the modern age has killed mystery,” she lamented, draping herself across the couch even though he couldn’t see her playacting.

“An’ I’m gonna kill _you_ if ya don’t tell me what’s up,” Jack grumbled.

“Geez, grandpa, what’s got your goat?”

“ _Katherine!_ ”

She rolled her eyes and stuck her tongue out at the empty living room in her shared apartment. “I was going to ask you to do something fun, but maybe I won’t now, grumpy-guts.”

“Kaaaaatherine,” he growled.

“I have a proposition for you,” she said brightly.

“ ‘S illegal to proposition someone, Pulitzer.”

“I _mean_ ,” she said, trying to balance a pen between her nose and upper lip, “I want to invite you to come with on my next out of town assignment. It’s over the weekend, so you wouldn’t even have to miss any work! Well, maybe a half day for the flight, but that’s it.”

“A flight?” He asked, his interest piqued. “This sounds big, K. Don’t Sylvain wanna come?”

“He’s working,” she said, squeaking a little as the pen rolled off her face. “And even if he weren’t, I’d still be inviting you, because—oh, no, wait—you should _guess_ why! Guess where we’re going, Jack, come on.” 

“I ain’t said yes yet,” he cautioned.

“You will though,” she said, confident on this one. “Go on, guess.”

“Bali,” he said.

She snorted. “I am _not_ taking you to Bali for a weekend. Stop trying to make that happen. Think smaller.” 

“Albany.”

She groaned. “Not _that_ small, smartass!”

“Just tell me,” he said. “I’s got a deadline, girlie, an’ I needs ta get back ta doodlin’ up some real fancy shit ta impress my boss.”

“Santa Fe!” She exclaimed, kicking her legs against the couch in excitement. “Can you believe it?”

“ _What?_ ” He said, his shock evident in his breathless tone. “You’s shittin’ me.”

“I’m serious!” Katherine said, amused at how taken aback he was. “I’m supposed to go tour some art galleries, talk to the owners, and write up a profile series. It’s kind of a reward of sorts. My boss said they don’t have enough for a raise for me right now, but that if I pitched an out-of-town piece that he liked, he’d cover my expenses and make sure it ran.” 

“An’ you pitched Santa Fe?” Jack asked, his voice a little wobbly.

“And I pitched Santa Fe!” She squealed. 

“Fuck, Pulitzer, bein’ friends with you is gonna cost me my hearin’.” 

“I’m worth it,” she said airily. “Oh! I almost forgot the best part—do you want to do the illustrations?”

“ _What_?”

“The piece needs illustrations, silly!” She said, rolling off the couch and skipping over to the window. “Well, that or photos or something, because it’s going to be in the print version of the magazine. Anyway, I said I had the perfect person in mind, and I showed them some samples of your work, and they loved you, of course,” she said, as if this were self-explanatory. “I mean, who wouldn’t?” Jack managed a noise, which seemed to be enough of a response for Katherine, because she continued. “Exactly. So, if you want it, the job is yours!” She walked on her tiptoes back to the couch and plopped back down. “You don’t have to, though. I can take some photos and have one of the artists on staff pull from those instead. It’s up to you. You’re coming with me either way, though—you _can’t_ say no to this. Take that half day and get your butt on the plane with me!”

“Wow,” Jack said, and Katherine heard him sit down heavily in his squeaky (but ergonomic) office chair. “I… _wow_.”

“Do you not want to do this?” She asked, a little hesitant. “I thought you’d be more excited.”

“No, it’s not that,” Jack hastened to assure her. “I just… wow, is all. ‘S… ‘s a lot ta take in, girlie, I… wow. Holy shit.”

“Santa Fe!” She said again, springing off the couch to bounce around the room. “You finally get to go!”

He cleared his throat and said, “I… yeah. Wow. Just wow. I been dreamin’ about it for so long, Pulitzer, an’ now… fuck.” She frowned at his tone; was he actually choked up? 

“Is that a happy fuck?” 

He laughed. “Yeah, ‘s a happy fuck. Thanks, babe. I… yeah. I’m in, I’m in all the way. F’r the illustrations, too.” He huffed into the phone and made a noise of disbelief. “I’m goin’ ta Santa Fe with you, Pulitzer. Damn. We’s gonna tear up the town, you an’ me.”

“You bet your imitation leather cowboy boots we are!” 

“Hey now; they’s real leather.”

“They’re really not,” Katherine said, “But that’s okay, cowboy, because we can get you some real ones out West.” 

“Hmmph.” 

She grinned. “Can’t wait, buttercup.” 

“Me either, girlie. We’ll talk details later, yeah? I really do got a deadline, wasn’t just makin’ that up.”

“You bet,” Katherine said cheerily. “Seeeeeee youuuuu!”

“Ow, my ears,” Jack grumbled, and hung up.

Katherine did another little dance in her apartment and hugged herself. “Saaaantaaaa Feeeeee,” she sang, and twirled into her room to get back on her work laptop and confirm the specifics with her boss.

 

*

 

“Where’s your suitcase?” Katherine opened the door of the cab that she and Jack were taking to the airport (more expensive than the MTA, yes, but also more likely to be on time) to let Jack in.

He gave her a funny look. “Whaddya mean, where’s my suitcase? You can’t seriously think I own a suitcase?” 

Her eyebrows shot up. “You don’t own a suitcase?”

He scowled, tossed his backpack into the middle seat, and slid in next to it. “You’re _bringing_ a suitcase? We’re gonna be gone f’r two days!”

“I like to be prepared for all eventualities,” she said haughtily, sticking her nose in the air. Then she cast a quick glance at him, saw he was busy buckling his seatbelt, and took the opportunity to poke him in his unprotected (and ticklish) stomach. “Pillsbury Poke!” She crowed, laughing as he jerked away from her. 

“What the hell, Pulitzer?” He groused, slapping her hand away. 

She ruffled his hair and smiled. “Oh, give me a hoooome, where the buffalo roooooam….” 

He rolled his eyes and let that gorgeous, dimpled smile break through. “I ain’t seen you this excited since Salman Rushdie gave that public lecture ‘bout censorship, girlie.” 

“Oh! That was a great talk!” She wrapped an arm around his shoulders and tugged him sideways into her, patting his thigh as she did so. “I’m so excited—we’re going to have so much fun!” 

He laughed. “I’m havin’ fun just watchin’ you be a goof, babe. Somethin’ up?”

“No,” she said blithely. “I’m just tickled pink that you get to see Santa Fe—all those years of dreaming, and it’s finally happening.” She sat back on her side of the cab and grinned. “You deserve to get everything you’ve ever dreamed of having, Jackie,” she said, readjusting her shoulderbelt. “And if I know anything about you –which I do– then I know that you’re going to make every last one of those dreams come true.”

Jack brushed his nose and then reached across to slug her in the arm. “Yellow punch-buggy, no punch-backs,” he said with a wink. She groaned and gave him a fake pout, and they both settled in for the drive to the airport.

 

*

 

Jack hefted his backpack up into the overhead compartment and shoved Katherine’s massive Vera Bradley bag in after. “Seriously, what all d’ya got in there? ‘S like you packed ta move there forever.”

She stuck her tongue out at him, and then her eyes widened. “Oh! Here, switch with me, you should take the window seat so you can see out.”

He tugged at his battered baseball cap and shook his head. “Nah, ‘s okay.”

“No, no, come on,” she said, already scooting out of the row and ushering him into her vacant seat. “This makes way more sense—you’ll get to admire the West as soon as we get there, and I’ll be able to go pee without bothering you.”

“What excellent logic,” he muttered, trying to switch back with her.

“You tease me all the time about how small my bladder is,” she said, crossing her arms. “Do you really want to be subject to its whims?” She raised an eyebrow. “Just sit, Jack. It’s nice of you to be chivalrous by wanting me to have the seat with the view, but be selfish for once, okay?”

Jack sighed and plopped down by the window, shifting awkwardly to find his lapbelt.

Katherine settled in to the aisle seat, grateful that the plane wasn’t full. It was always nice to have a little extra space that you hadn’t had to pay for. She pulled out her water bottle, a book, and a packet of gum, offering Jack a piece before settling back into her seat. She sent a few last-minute texts before switching her cell phone into airplane mode (she was pretty sure the plane would be fine regardless, but rules were rules) and started unraveling the cord to her headphones. She’d brought the noise-canceling ones; they were bulkier, but oh, were they worth it, particularly on airplanes. She hummed slightly to herself as she hooked them up to her phone and scrolled through her playlists, turning to smile at Jack as the plane started to taxi up the runway. 

Her smile fell as she took in the grimace on his face and the way he was white-knuckling the armrests. Sliding her headphones around her neck, she moved into the middle seat and laid her hand atop his. “Hey,” she said softly, squeezing his hand. “What’s up?”

“Ain’t never been on a plane before,” he said through gritted teeth.

Katherine could have kicked herself. She knew this was his first time on a plane; she should’ve done a better job of preparing him. She could have bought him a stupid clip-on pilot pin and an airplane coloring book, coached him through what to expect, explained turbulence to him, debunked common airplane myths…

Katherine had flown a lot over the years, and she’d had a jittery phase, too. When it had gotten to the point that flights made her cry, her father had arranged for her to tour a cockpit with a commercial airline pilot, who let her sit at the controls and told her how everything worked and answered all of her timid questions about air currents and engine failures and lift and thrust and safety standards. If she’d bothered to think ahead, she could have done the same for Jack. But he’d been such a rock for her of late that she’d halfway forgotten that he got scared sometimes, too. _Stupid Katherine, you just assumed he’d be fine; clearly, you were wrong._

“I think you’ll like it once we’re in the air,” she said, settling her other hand on his shoulder and then moving to rub his back.

He just grunted and squeezed his eyes shut.

“Want me to tell you a story?” She asked, peeling his left hand off the armrest so that she could hold his hand and let him hang on to her as tightly as he needed.

He swallowed and nodded.

“Okay,” she said. “Let’s see…” She hadn’t made up a story in ages, not since her littlest cousins had gotten too old for that sort of thing, but hey, she was a professional writer now; she'd be fine. “Once upon a time, there was a handsome newspaper boy,” she said, smiling to herself. “He was funny and smart and a natural born leader. All the other newsboys looked up to him and wanted to be him, but all he wanted to do was run away and be a cowboy.” 

The plane lifted up into the air then, causing Jack to let out a whimper and clutch Katherine’s hand even more tightly. The pressure of his hand was almost unbearable, but she kept her voice steady, leaning to rest her head on his shoulder. “Well, one day this handsome newsboy decided that he was finally going to do it; he was getting out of the city and heading for greener pastures,” she said, continuing to massage his upper back. “And so he gathered up his things and went down to the train yard to hop a boxcar out West. Unfortunately—or perhaps fortunately, I’ll let you be the judge—he was so excited to leave the city far behind that he didn’t look where he was going and ran right into the back of a smart-alecky, redheaded girl.”

Jack gave a short laugh, which Katherine rewarded with a squeeze to his hand before continuing. “And when I say ran, I mean ran,” she said, scanning the muscles in his jaw to judge how tense he was. “He was going just about as fast as he could go, the little rascal, and so he knocked the girl right over. Well, she went skidding across the pavement, and let me tell you, she was _not_ happy about it.” 

The plane had finally reached cruising altitude and stopped tilting from side to side, but Jack’s eyes remained firmly closed. “The newsboy felt just terrible, of course,” Katherine said, “And he apologized over and over again as he helped the girl up off the pavement. ‘Where were you going in such a hurry?’ She asked. ‘I’m headed out West,’ he said. ‘Why would you ever do that?’ She asked. She couldn’t understand why he would leave. ‘Everyone wants to come to New York,’ she said. The paperboy frowned. ‘Not everyone. There’s clean air and mountains and sunsets out West. Buffalos, too. And rattlesnakes. New York doesn’t have any of that.’ The girl thought for a minute. ‘I like not having to worry about rattlesnakes, though,’ she said, and the boy rolled his eyes. ‘Rattlesnakes are easy to handle. You just chop their heads off with a hoe and then you turn them into snakeskin purses and snakeskin suits and fry the rest of them up over the campfire for dinner.’ The girl looked the newsboy up and down. ‘Hmm. Rattlesnake for dinner. I’d like to try that. Got room for one more on your trip?’ She asked, and the newsboy smiled. ‘You bet.’”

Katherine paused and looked at Jack, whose grip on her hand had loosened as she talked. She sighed in relief as she noticed from the sag of his head and the smoothness of his face that he had fallen asleep. “Sweet dreams, Jackie,” she whispered, patting his back gently. He stirred slightly and used his free hand to pull his baseball cap lower on his head, but not once did he open his eyes or rouse from his sleep until the plane bumped to a stop on the Santa Fe runway.

 

*

“…still can’t believe it ain’t green like I thought,” Jack complained, Katherine’s large carry-on bag slung over his shoulder. 

“It’s in the _desert_ , Jack. If you’d thought about it for more than half a second, you’d have realized that was unrealistic.”

“Yeah, well, ‘s still disappointing.”

“Oh my _gosh_ , Jack, such a Debbie Downer.” 

“Hey now, I loved the trip! Just hafta find somethin’ wrong with it, otherwise I might wanna move there like that newsboy in ya story.” 

“You were awake for that part?” 

“Mhmm,” he said, following her out through the security gates. “An’ I don’t wanna move ta Santa Fe, girlie. Not permanent-like.” 

She beamed at him and threw her arms around his neck. “You have no idea how happy I am to hear you say that.”

He staggered a little at the awkward angle and then laughed. “Didn’t know you was worried about that.”

“I mean, you haven't talked about it as much since you got your own place, so I don’t know if _worried_ is the right word, but…” She paused to check one of the overhead signs to see which baggage carousel to go to. “Well, no, that's not true. It is the right word. I was worried. I don’t want you to go out West, Jack. I like you better here. With me.” 

“I like me better here with you, too,” he said, tugging on her braid. 

“Aww,” she said, scrunching up her nose and elbowing him sideways. “What a soft cowboy you are.”

He opened his mouth to reply, but he was cut off by a deep voice calling out “Mon chou!”

Katherine whirled around and lit up. “Sylvain!” She raced over to him, and he picked her up and spun her in a circle.

“Hello, _minette_ ,” he said, giving her a kiss. “How was your trip?” 

“Wonderful!” She said, pulling him back with her to stand next to Jack as they waited for her suitcase. “Jack and I had a fabulous time. Didn’t we, Jack?”

“Mhmm,” Jack said, extending his hand for Sylvain to shake. “You have an okay weekend, too, man?” 

“It would have been better if Katherine were here,” he said with a smile, taking Jack’s hand in a firm grip. “But I managed.” He wrapped his arm protectively around her and squeezed her gently. “I missed you.” 

“I missed you, too,” she said, leaning her head on his shoulder. “Oh, there’s my bag! Hang on!” She broke free of his grasp and went to haul a bright pink suitcase off of the baggage carousel. “Oof, that’s heavy,” she said, and Sylvain immediately went to take it from her. “Thanks, dear,” she said, and slung her purse back over her shoulder.

“Well, I’m gonna head out,” Jack said, passing Katherine her oversized carry-on. “Gotta get a little prep work done ‘fore the layout meetin’ tomorrow.” 

“Oh, do you have to?” Katherine said, sounding disappointed. “I thought we could all get dinner together, debrief from our trip, show Sylvain those gorgeous sunset photos you took.”

Jack shot a glance at Sylvain, who was valiantly trying not to look annoyed, and shook his head. “Nah, sorry, I really need ta get this done. You two have a nice dinner, though.” 

“Are you sure?” Katherine wheedled. “We’d love for you to join us, really. Right, Syl?” She turned to look up at Sylvain and gave him a completely oblivious smile. 

He forced a grin back and said, “Oh, definitely.” 

Jack adjusted his backpack straps and said, “That’s nice of ya both, but I really can't. Another time, maybe.” 

“Okay,” Katherine said, then broke away from Sylvain to give Jack a hug and a quick kiss on the cheek. “We still on for Tuesday TV Night?”

Jack shifted awkwardly, trying not to register Sylvain’s growing frustration. “Uh, yeah, um—could you check in with me about that on Tuesday? I, uh, need ta make sure I ain’t behind at work before I say yes.” 

“Sure,” Katherine said. “Bye, Jackie! Thanks for coming!”

He waved and walked away. She turned back to her boyfriend and kissed him full on the lips. “So, where do you want to go eat?”

 

*

 

Jack had just settled down to eat his microwave meal in front of the TV when his phone rang. “ ‘Lo?”

“Jack?” It was Katherine, her voice shaky. “Do you have time to talk me through another emotional meltdown? It’s okay if not; I can handle this one myself. I’m just sad, is all.”

He put down his fork and switched his phone to the other ear. “I always have time for you, babe. What’s up?”

“Are you sure?”

“Come on, Pulitzer. We've been friends long enough that I ain’t gonna offer ta do things for ya when I don’t mean it.”

“Right,” she said. “Sorry.” And then silence.

He sighed. “Spit it out, girlie.”

“Sylvain broke up with me,” she said quietly.

“What?”

“Permanently,” she added. “None of that ‘I think we should take a break’ bullshit. He said ‘I can’t do this anymore. It’s over.’ So, yeah, that’s that.”

“Oh,” Jack said, stunned. 

“He gets points for clarity,” she said stolidly, although Jack could hear the quaver in her voice. “There’s no way for me to misinterpret _that_.” 

“No, I… I guess not,” Jack said, running his free hand through his hair. “Fuck, Kitty, I’m sorry.”

“Me too,” she said, sniffling a bit. “Can I… Can I come over? Leandra’s here, and I… I don’t want her to hear me crying.” 

“Of course,” Jack said, standing to start tidying up his apartment. “I’ll go to Duane Reade an’ pick up some tissues an’ Ben an’ Jerry’s while I wait. Chocolate Therapy still good?”

“Thanks,” she said, keeping the tears at bay. “See you in thirty.”

“Bye, babe.” 

 

*

 

Katherine showed up not long after, and although she almost burst into tears at the sight of Jack holding the door open for her, one arm cradling a pint of ice cream, the other already stretched open for a hug, she held it together. She gave him a quick hug and collapsed on the couch, Jack passing the ice cream and a spoon across to her.

“Okay, girlie. Tell me what ya need. Ya wanna talk about it or watch shitty movies or have me nod while you explain how fuckin’ awful men are?”

“Not sure,” she said, a spoonful of chocolate ice cream already in her mouth. “Hold me?”

He scooted across to her and pulled her onto his lap, wrapping one strong arm around her back and using the other to grab a tissue from the box on the coffee table, just in case. 

She sighed and leaned into his chest, tipping her head slightly onto his shoulder. “I’m going to miss him,” she said, digging for another spoonful of ice cream. “He was nice.”

“Yeah,” Jack said, patting her leg. “He was.” 

“It’s hard to find men who are nice and smart and handsome and aren’t just going to talk about themselves the whole time,” she said.

“It really is,” he said, and she smiled, grateful that he wasn’t trying to expand on anything, that he was just letting her be sad and say what she wanted.

“It hurts,” she said, her voice wobbling. “I don’t _like_ this, Jack. I want to go back to yesterday when I was happy with you in Santa Fe. I want… I want this part of it to be over. I’m just so _sad_ , and I... I want it to stop!”

“That’s normal, baby,” he said, handing her a tissue. “Ain’t no fix but time, but damn if it don’t hurt like shit at first.” 

“It really does,” she said, tears finally starting to slide down her cheeks. “I liked him an awful lot, you know? And we were together for nine months, Jack. That’s a long time,” she said, her voice growing thicker. “There’s going to be all this space in my life where he used to be, and I…" She  stuck the spoon back in the ice cream. "Oh, fuck. It’s going to hurt for a while, isn’t it.” 

“It is,” he said, hugging her closer. “I'm sorry. I wish I could hurt ‘steada you, Kitty. Breakups suck ass.” 

“I’ve never had one before,” she said, her tears already starting to slow. “So I don’t know what to do. Write shitty poetry? Throw myself into my work? Fly to the Amazon and get high out of my mind on ayahuasca? Chop off all my hair?”

“Not your hair!” He tightened his grip on her arm. “Fuck, Kitty, I love your hair—please don’t cut it.”

“So that’s a yes to the ayahuasca, then?” She teased.

“Only if I get ta come with,” Jack said, winking. “Sounds like far too much fun ta have all by yourself.” 

“Oh, definitely,” she said. “Getting smashed in the rainforest and contracting malaria is definitely my idea of fun.” 

“They do have bug spray in Peru, ya know.”

“Mmm,” she said, working on another mouthful of ice cream. She listened to his heartbeat for a minute or two, breathing in the warm, comforting smell of Jack. He must have showered since getting home from the airport, because she could smell his bodywash on him, too, in addition to the usual cloves and ink and the smell of, well, _boy_. “He said we were too close,” she said, reaching for another tissue to wipe her mouth. 

“What’s that?” Jack asked, shifting his legs under her so they wouldn’t fall asleep. 

“Sylvain. That’s why he broke up with me. He said he’d tried to wrap his head around it, but…” She shrugged. “I guess he couldn’t.” 

“Oh,” Jack said. Was this… was this the time to make a move? It wasn’t, was it? When your girl – _not your girl_ – was sitting in your lap just an hour after the end of her nine-month relationship with someone else? _Don’t be an idiot, Jack_ , he scolded himself. This was definitely not the time.

“Yeah,” she said, not really sure why she’d told him that. She didn’t mean for him to feel in any way responsible for the breakup, because it wasn’t his fault, not in the least. He’d been wonderful. A complete gentleman. The perfect best friend. He’d respected her boundaries just the same as he always had, he hadn’t pried into her relationship, and he’d never pouted or sulked or pushed when she’d turned him down to spend time with her boyfriend. “It just sucks, Jack,” she said. “You’re my best friend—am I supposed to drop you in order to date? Because like hell am I doing that,” she said, her voice heated. “If Syl can’t handle the fact that I have friendships with men, then he’s not someone I want to waste my time on. I mean, he wouldn’t have this problem if you were a girl, so—what’s the deal? Does he not trust me? Does he not trust _you?_ ” She growled in frustration. “As if either of us would ever…” She jabbed the spoon back into the ice cream. “Well, you know what, Jack? Fuck him, that’s what I say. Fuck his gorgeous face and his perfect meals and his adorable love of balcony gardens and the way he was scared of the Central Park squirrels…” She trailed off and started to cry in earnest. 

“Oh, Kitty,” Jack said, rocking her back and forth. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault!” She wailed. “It’s not your fault at all, you better not be sorry for that, you didn’t do anything wrong, and neither did he, so I…” She choked slightly and sobbed harder. “I don’t know what I did, but it had to be me. He was so _nice_ , Jack, he was so nice, and I’m too sharp and mean and prickly for someone that nice, and I never remembered to buy unsalted butter when he baked, and I told him to stop sending flowers to the office, and he wanted to go to the Bahamas with me but I didn’t want to share a hotel room with him, and he gave me this scandalized look every time I told a dark joke, and I…” She turned her face into his chest and clutched at his shirt. “I ruined it, Jack, I ruined it, and—and you know what the worst part is?" She laughed through her tears. "I ruined it just by being _me_! I tried so hard to be good enough, I really did, and I _still_ drove him away.” She pulled back to look him in the eyes, although she could barely see through her tears. “If someone that nice can’t find something in me worth sticking around for, then how the hell am I ever going to find anyone who wants me?” She buried her face in his chest again and cried and cried, her fingers wrapped tightly in his cotton undershirt, her tears soaking wet, see-through patches in the fabric.

“Katherine,” he soothed, “Girlie, shh, it ain’t like that at all. You’s wonderful, baby, you is, you’s so wonderful and kind and good, an’ you’s gonna find someone who loves you for who you are, someone ya ain’t gonna have ta try so hard for—someone who likes your dark humor an’ don’t mind you bein’ kinda forgetful an’ unromantic sometimes. They’s someone out there who likes alla those things, I promise, ‘cause you know what? Those ain’t bad things, baby. They’s just things.” She shivered against him and sniffed back a rope of snot. “Trust me, Kitty—you’s gonna find someone who’s willin’ ta take it slow with ya, someone who loves your smile an’ your spunk an’ the way you got a comeback for every fuckin’ thing. You’s worth stickin’ around for, Katherine Pulitzer, an’ I don’t ever wanna hear ya say that ya aren’t. Sylvain passed up the chance of a lifetime by endin’ things with you, an’ there ain’t nothin’ wrong with you that made him leave.” 

Katherine nodded against him, listening to his words vibrate through his chest. “You… you mean it? You really think there’s… there’s someone out there who could love a mess like me?”

“I know it,” he said, smoothing her hair. “An' you ain’t a mess, either, babe. Trust me, they’s someone out there’s gonna love ya just as ya is. No alterations needed.”

“Pret-a-relationship,” she said with a weak giggle.

He laughed, too. “Yeah. Exactly. So you just hang on, okay? You’s one tough cookie, Pulitzer, an’ anyone who bets against you ‘s gonna lose.”

“Thanks, Jack,” she said, her breathing starting to even out again.

“Actually, babe—you know who you remind me of?” He asked, tucking a stray curl behind her ear and then rubbing her back gently. 

“Who?”

She heard him take a deep breath and then say, “Emmy.”

“Emmy?” Katherine asked, immediately flashing back to that night in the hotel when he’d called her Emmy and tried to save her from whatever monster was haunting his nightmares.

“Yeah,” he said, sounding wistful. “Emmy. Emmy’s my sister. Emma, really. Emma Jane Kelly.”

“It’s a beautiful name,” she said, not wanting to push him.

“She was a beautiful girl,” he said fondly. “Six years younger’n me, two-thirds my size, an’ more'n enough spirit f’r the both of us. She’d run circles around me, the little hellion, but you couldn’t get mad at her for anythin’ she did—not with those bright eyes an’ sweet smile.” He entwined his fingers with Katherine’s and settled back into the couch cushions. “Cutest little kid I ever did see,” he said, “She’d tease ya an’ sass ya f’r all she was worth, but ‘s soon as she saw ya was sad or tired or just a little under the weather, she’d do anythin’ she could ta help. Lot like you, Kitty. Half chutzpah, half compassion. I got a box of cards from her under my bed,” he said, “Lotsa glitter crayons an’ rainbows. Ya can’t be sad when ya sees a rainbow—least not accordin’ ta Emmy, anyway.” 

He smiled, and Katherine squeezed his hand. “She was right about that,” she said.

“She was my baby,” he said, “My li’l cuddlebug. I loved her more’n anything, an' I…” He shook his head. “We was always close,” he said, “But when our parents died in that wreck, we got even closer. She were only four when it happened, Kitty, so... I mean, she were too little ta understand that Mom an’ Dad weren’t never comin’ back, too little ta unnerstand what it meant ta be a ward of the state, too little ta unnerstand why we was in a group home with a lotta other kids an’ a nasty ol’ man runnin’ the show. So I…” He bit his lip. “I promised her I’d be her ev’rythin’. I promised I’d keep her safe. I was gonna protect her from the world, make sure she had all she needed, keep her from anythin’ bad…” He trailed off, and Katherine didn’t push him; she let the silence hang, tilting her head up to kiss his chin and stroking her thumb over the back of his hand.

He moved his other hand from her back to rub at his neck and then cleared his throat. “I let her down, though. I came back from school one day an’ she just…”He squeezed his eyes shut at the memory. “She weren’t there.” His voice broke. “Her li’l pink crutches was standin’ in the corner, an’ I... Well, she didn’t need ‘em all the time, 'cause her cerebral palsy weren’t so bad she always had ta have ‘em, but her limp got worse in the cold an’ if she were tired an’…" He gripped her hand tighter. "Oh, _fuck_ , Kitty, them crutches was still _there_ , they was still there but Emmy _wasn’t_ , an’ I…” He took a deep, shuddering breath. “I failed her. I failed. She was gone, an' I... Well, I was sure Snyder took her, an' I knew, I just _knew_ he’d put her somewhere in the dark, somewhere where she’d be all alone, somewhere she couldn't never find her way back from, an' then I... I knew she’d be scared without me, an’ I… Oh, shit, I just... Well, I fuckin’ _lost_ it. I went apeshit on Snyder, girlie. Hell, you wouldn’t believe the kind of damage a ten-year-old c’n do when he’s set his mind ta destruction, I mean, it was just…” Jack shrugged and laughed. “Well. It didn't get me my Emmy; it got me juvie stint number one.” 

Katherine snuggled in closer and wrapped an arm around him. 

“Turns out all that happened was that she got adopted,” Jack said wryly. “Stands ta reason—she were a cute, sweet four-year-old girl, an’ who don’t want one o’ them?” He blew a floppy strand of hair off of his forehead. “An' hell, if your other option is a fucked up ten-year-old boy with authority issues?” He laughed. “Well, not many fam’lies want one o’ those. ‘Specially not if he might corrupt his innocent kid sister.” Jack sighed and readjusted his position on the couch. “Emmy were a priority case, too, on account o’ her CP an’ all, so they’d been tryin’ hard ta place her, but I never knew that they…" He stopped and restarted. "Well, I mean, she’d been tellin’ me about all these nice people that'd come ta visit her when I were in school, but... Well, I never put two an’ two together until it were too late.” 

“Oh, Jack,” Katherine breathed, hugging him tightly. “I’m so sorry.” 

“ ‘S okay,” he said, brushing at his nose.

“Thank you for telling me,” she said quietly, pulling away to meet his eyes and let him know how much she meant that. “I’m honored to hear that I remind you of her. She sounds wonderful.” 

He smiled, a little bit sadly. “She was.” He ran his teeth over his lip and said, “Or is. She’s out there somewhere, I think. As soon’s I got outta juvie an’ figured out what had happened f’r real, I started tryna track her down, but the records... Well, Snyder said they were sealed." Katherine gave him an outraged look. "It were a closed adoption,” he explained. "Nothin' I could do."

“So that’s it?” She asked, her blood starting to boil. 

“Her records got unsealed once she turned eighteen,” Jack said, “An’ that happened last year. Last year on May 24. So she’s nineteen now. She's all grown up, an'...  _Fuck._ My baby sister is nineteen years an’ four months old now, Kitty. I wouldn't even recognize her if I passed her on the street.” He rubbed his forehead. “I ain’t had any luck with findin' her, neither. I don’t know her new last name, an’ Emma Jane ain’t exactly a lot ta go on, an’…” He ground his teeth in frustration. “Hell, I don’t even know if she’s still in the _state_ , let alone this shithole of a  _city!"_ He clenched his hands into fists and then relaxed them before letting his head fall forwards. “I can’t find her, girlie. She's gone. I been lookin’ so hard these last sixteen months, but I ain’t found nothin’ at all, an’—hell, she prob’ly don’t want me, anyway. She were real little when she left, so she prob’ly don’t remember me, an’, well, even if she does, why would she… why would she want me?” He looked at Katherine, who tried her best not to fall apart at the desperate, lonely look in his eyes. “I failed her, Katherine. Why would she ever want me?”

“Oh, Jack,” Katherine said again, sitting up in his lap so that she could give him a proper hug. “Who _wouldn’t_ want you? You’re the best person I know. Emmy’s looking for you, too, baby—I’m sure she is. There’s no way she could ever forget you.” She sat back to wipe the tears from his face and lean her forehead against his. “Ohhh, Jackie," she whispered. "My dear, sweet Jackie. You’re one in a million, buttercup. You're the best big brother anyone could ask for. I promise you, there is no way in hell she’s forgotten who you are, and she is looking for you. I swear it. I  _know_.”

Jack nodded and buried his head in her shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice choked. “You came here f’r me ta cheer you up, not ta… not ta have me snivel all over ya.” 

“Shh,” she said, running her fingers through his hair as she hugged him. “No apologizing. You took care of me already; now it’s your turn.”

“Thanks,” he sniffled, wiping his nose with his hand. “I miss her, is all.” 

“I know, baby,” she said, pressing a kiss to his hair and rocking him side to side. “I know. And if you want to keep looking for her, then I’ll help you any way I can. I promise. Because she wants you just as much as you want her." He made a wounded noise, and Katherine tried not to start crying on him again. "Shh, shh. She does. And I swear to you, Jack—Emmy’s looking for you, too. She is. I promise. She is. I just know it.” 

He nodded into her shoulder and shuddered slightly. “I… thanks.” He took another few deep breaths and nuzzled in closer to her. “Kitty?” He asked, his voice lacking all of the confidence she had grown accustomed to hearing from him.

“Yes, baby?” 

He swallowed hard and asked, “Will you… will you stay with me tonight?” 

Katherine felt her stomach do a somersault. Oh, fuck. She wasn’t… did she… “Of course,” she said. “Of course.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Minette = French term of endearment used by men for women. It means kitty. (at least according to the internet. I could be wrong.)
> 
> Surprise! Jack has a sister! How many of you guessed that that's who Emmy was? :) I did do some research on CP, but I don't have it myself, so please let me know if I got anything wrong, and I will happily fix it! <3


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a couple of big changes happen for Jack.

**February (age 25)**

“What’s up, buttercup!” Katherine called, letting herself into Jack’s apartment. “Ready for Peaky Blinders?” There was no answer; he must be in the bathroom. She slung the bag of Chinese takeout onto the counter and pulled out a plate for her and silverware for Jack (he liked eating his food straight from the takeout box; she liked using chopsticks). She started singing ‘Red Right Hand’ as she filled up a glass of water for herself and pulled a bottle of beer out of the fridge for Jack, and then she brought everything around the bar-style counter into the living room.

“Jack?” She said, seeing him lying facedown on his couch, feet dangling off the edge and arms folded over his head. Was he asleep? That didn’t look comfortable, but he had a talent for sleeping anywhere at any time in any position… Then he moaned, and she frowned. He was definitely awake, but… “What’s going on?” She placed their dinner on his coffee table and flicked the back of his head. “It’s Tuesday, babe; what’s got you too upset for TV night?” 

He waved a hand at her and said, “Got fired.” His voice was muffled by the cushions, but there was no mistaking his words.

Katherine’s blood ran cold, and she immediately crouched down on the floor next to his head. “What? _Why_? You’re one of the best illustrators they’ve got; why would they fire you?” 

“Downsizin’,” he said stiffly, head still squashed in the couch. 

“That’s not being fired—that’s being let go.”

He jerked his head sideways to glare at her. “Like it fuckin’ matters!” 

“It does,” she said, completely calm. “It means that you’ll get a good referral from your boss, and it’ll make interviewing for new jobs a whole lot easier, too.”

“Fuck new jobs,” Jack muttered, turning his head back into the couch.

“You’re going to suffocate yourself if you keep trying to breathe through those cushions,” she said matter-of-factly, walking the five steps it took to return to the kitchen.

“Fine by me,” Jack said, refusing to move.

She pulled a bottle of whiskey off of his shelf and poured him a tumbler full. “Here,” she said, patting his back and wafting the liquor near his head. “Drink up.”

Jack shook his head into the couch and she sighed, sitting down on the floor and setting the whiskey where he’d be able to reach it. Then she switched on the TV and pulled out her dinner, dumping the Ma Po tofu on her plate and using her chopsticks to mix in the rice. She sat through an entire episode of Scrubs before she heard Jack stirring on the couch. She kept her eyes glued to the TV until she felt him tugging at one of the curls that had come loose from her tightly coiled bun.

“Why ain’t ya bein’ nicer ta me?” He grumbled.

She turned and raised her eyebrows. “Because you were wallowing,” she said. “You don’t need my help for that. When you want a pep talk, I’m all yours, but I’m not going to ‘oh poor baby’ you while you pout into your Ikea furniture.”

He frowned, but Katherine caught a hint of amusement in his eyes. “I ain’t wallowin’,” he said gruffly. “I’m panickin’. How’m I s’posed ta pay rent?” 

“You’re not panicking,” she said, turning back to the TV. “I’ve seen you panic, and that’s not what this is. This is you feeling sorry for yourself. And that’s fine; you’re allowed to do that. It’s totally normal, blah blah blah. Still, feeding your self-pity cycle is not what I’m good at, and you’ve known that for _years_. So go pout in your bedroom, cowboy, and come out when you want to move on to reassurance and solutions.” 

“I can pout wherever I want! It’s _my_ apartment!” Jack protested, taking a sip of the whiskey she’d poured him.

“And Tuesday nights on your couch are part of _my_ routine,” she replied, turning up the volume. “I’ll leave if you like, but I’d rather that you snap out of it. I mean, come on—are you really going to get all bent out of shape over something this small? You’re a phenomenal artist, you’re always fielding unsolicited freelance offers from potential clients, and I know for a fact that one ad agency, two web content producers, and one print magazine have tried to poach you just in the last year. You are going to be reemployed in a heartbeat, as you well know, and, well, honestly? You were too good for the place you were at, anyway.”

“Hrmph,” Jack grunted, setting the whiskey back down on the coffee table and reaching into the plastic takeout bag for his orange chicken. “Hand me that fork?”

She grabbed it and held it over her shoulder to him without even looking back. “Can we watch Peaky Blinders now?”

“Yeah,” he said, taking the remote control and flipping over to Netflix. “Bet you fifty bucks Arthur don’t make it through the season.”

“You shouldn’t be betting like that, not when you’re unemployed,” she said, testing him out.

“Too soon, Pulitzer,” he muttered. “But I got a pretty nice severance deal an’ two emails from prospective employers this afternoon, so I’ll bet what I want, thanks.”

“You’re on, then,” Katherine said, turning to give him a wink and a smile.

He smiled grudgingly back at her. He hated that she could read him so well. He’d spent the last few days milking this disappointment on Tinder, happily letting some stunningly attractive women and startlingly handsome men distract him with... well, with sex. Maybe he could’ve found better ways to handle this setback, but, well… he _liked_ sex. He liked it a lot, in fact.  Good old-fashioned mindless, emotionless, carefree sex.

So what if he usually pretended that it was Katherine kissing his chest and holding him close and panting underneath him instead of his hook-up du jour? It wasn’t as if he was hurting anyone by thinking mostly of her—he had yet to slip up and call out the wrong name, and as long as everybody ended the evening satisfied, who cared if he didn’t actually want Todd or Carly or Jamie? They definitely didn’t; he made sure of that.

Okay, fine, so he was completely, utterly, irretrievably gone over Katherine. No point in denying that, not when her smile made him dizzy and her words sparked golden sunbursts in his head, drenching him in yellow every single time they talked on the phone. But she didn’t love him back, so if he wanted to have some fun on his own—well, really, was that such a crime? 

He nudged Katherine’s right shoulderblade with his knee. “Ya don’t hafta sit on the floor, ya know. There’s space on the couch.”

“Oh, have you stopped being a tragic potato?” 

He guffawed and reached for the whiskey. “Yup. Left half is all yours now.” 

“Thanks,” she said primly, standing and moving to her usual spot. As they sat through the opening credits, reading unfamiliar names superimposed over gritty shots of recreated 1920s Birmingham slums, she turned to him and said, “But while you’re job hunting, I think you should strike out on your own a bit, too.”

“Huh?” Jack said, his mouth full of chicken.

“Start selling some original work, Jack. Find a gallery, set up a store online, advertise for commissions, _something_. You’re really good; you can make this work.” 

He gave her a skeptical look and took another swig of beer.

“I’m serious,” she said, fishing for another piece of tofu. “Don’t try to turn it into a living just yet, obviously, but as a side project? Completely viable. Supplement that severance package, pay your rent. And once you’ve gotten it off the ground, I bet you’ll be able to turn it into a full-time thing if you decide you want to.” 

He rubbed his chin and looked back at the TV. “Hmm.” 

“Give it some thought, babe. You could do this.”

“Mmm,” he said, nodding into his takeout container.

She cocked her head to look at him and frowned. “You know I’ll always support you, right? No matter what?” 

He turned to her and raised an eyebrow. 

“If you need a place to stay, some rent money, groceries, anything like that—I’ve got you. I’m serious.”

He softened and smiled. “Thanks, K. You’re an angel.”

She batted her eyelashes. “About time you noticed. I’m definitely too gorgeous to be human.” 

He snorted and threw a fried wonton chip at her. 

“You are a literal child,” she complained, getting ready to pop the wonton chip into her mouth. As she did, though, the gangsters on the TV started shooting, which caused Katherine to shriek, jump, and spill her tofu all over the couch.

“Messiest angel I ever saw,” Jack laughed, as Katherine shook tofu juice off her hands and grimaced at how squishy it was, and— _oh, no_ , had she sat on it? Gross.

She shuddered and stalked into the kitchen, pulling faces all the while, covertly monitoring Jack to make sure that he was starting to feel better. She watched him break into a huge grin, and yes, that laughter was real, and oh, great, now he was throwing tofu at her… _Oh well_ , she thought, smiling inside. _As long as he’s happy_.

 

*

 

**May (age 25)**

“Check it out, Kitty!” Jack said, shoving the arts section of _The New York Times_ into his friend’s hands.

“It’s you!” She squealed. “They ran the piece!” She hopped in place, scanning the front page. “Ohhhh, look at that photo! And, oh my gosh, look at your _work_! Hell, look at _you_! Fuck, Jack, you’re so _handsome_!” She jumped into his arms and squeezed him tight. “I’m so _proud_ of you, buttercup! You did so _good_! Look at you _go_!” She pecked him on the cheek as he laughed and set her back on the ground. 

“Well, gee, thanks,” he said, removing his baseball cap and smoothing his hair before pulling the hat on backwards. 

“Celebratory dinner!” She said, looking at the article once more. “Invite all the boys! My treat.”

“Them boys eat a lot,” Jack said. “You sure?” 

“Fuck yes,” she said, waving the paper at him. “This is a big deal, and we’re going to celebrate it right!”

He ducked his head and grinned bashfully. “Thanks, K. You’re the best.”

“Uh, no, obviously _you_ are the best,” she said, doing an excited little shimmy. “Flipping fishsticks, Jack—you’ve been profiled in the _Times_!” She squeezed her eyes shut and hugged herself in glee. “Eeeeeek, I’m going to go make a dinner reservation right now, I just—aaaaaah, congratulations! I’m so proud of you for putting yourself out there like this, I _knew_ you’d be a smash hit!” She flung her arms around him again and then scurried into her room to look up restaurants on her laptop. 

Jack rubbed at his neck and smiled down at his bare feet. “Well, shit,” he mumbled to himself. “I made the front page.”

 

*

**June (age 25)**

A few weeks later, Jack and Katherine were headed up to his apartment to grab some of his painting supplies. Katherine had finally moved into her own place—it was small, but it was all hers, and she was absurdly proud of it—and even though she was renting for now, the landlord had said she was free to paint the walls. (“As long as you don’t paint them red,” he’d cautioned. “If ya paints ‘em red, it’ll be hard ta tell if ya gets blood on 'em.” She’d laughed nervously and promised.)

“Hey, Jackie, when’s the last time you checked your mail?” Katherine asked, seeing some envelopes sticking out of the downstairs postbox. 

“Uh… coupla weeks, maybe? Dunno. I never remember.”

“Hand me your key,” she said, rolling her eyes. He did so, and she pulled all of the crumpled mail out of his mailbox while he punched the button for the elevator. “Junk, junk, junk…” She said, sorting through the ad circulars and cable company flyers. “Ooh, here’s an actual letter, though, Jack—from somebody Shepherd?” 

Jack frowned and took the pale blue envelope. “I dunno any Shepherds—someone payin’ me f’r a commission, maybe?” He slapped the letter against his palm and then held the elevator door open so Katherine could exit first. “Maybe one o’ them older people what don’t trust Paypal?”

“You’re not very good at the business side of your business,” Katherine commented, following him in to his apartment and dumping all of the mail on his coffee table. 

Jack shrugged and ripped open the blue envelope. “I keep meanin’ ta ask Charlie ta help me with that stuff, ‘cause he’s organized an’ good with numbers an' shit, but I just ain’t gotten around to it.”

“Uh huh,” she said, unimpressed. “Paint’s in the front hall closet?”

“Yeah,” Jack said, unfolding the letter as Katherine went to see what colors he had in stock.

“Ooh, fern green!” She said, pulling out a large can and turning around to him. “Is this—” She stopped cold when she saw the look on Jack’s face. He’d gone completely white, and his hands had begun to shake. “Babe?” She asked, setting the paint down and moving over to rub his back. “What is it?”

“Emmy,” he whispered, his teeth chattering. 

She clapped both hands over her mouth and stared at him, her eyes wide. He swallowed hard and looked back down at the letter, reading it to the end and then staggering to the couch.

Katherine remained frozen in the kitchen. “I… should I go?” 

He shook his head emphatically and held the letter out to her. “Read it,” he croaked, starting to hyperventilate. “It’s Emmy, it’s my Emmy, and she… Oh, fuck, what do I _do_?” As soon as she took the sheet of paper from his hands, he pulled his legs up onto the couch, wrapped his arms around his knees, and buried his head in the safety of his arms. 

 

_Dear Jack Kelly,_

_My name is Emma Jane Shepherd. You probably know me as Emma Jane Kelly, though. I hope you remember me, because if not then this will be even more uncomfortable than it already is, but I believe I am your biological sister. The last time we saw each other was 16 years ago in Snyder’s Manhattan Refuge Group Home. You were 10 and I was 4. I was adopted before you were by a very nice family, the Shepherds. My parents, Maryanne and Dale, thought it would be easier for me to have a normal life if they did a closed adoption, which is why are you are just now hearing from me. It has taken me a while to find the right John Francis Kelly, because apparently Mr. Snyder was arrested a while back and the records from his Home became confidentiel evidence in the case, so I could not look for you that way. However, I saw your profile in_ The New York Times _last week and recognized you immediately. I have some pictures of us as children, and your eyes are exactly the same. Mom isn’t as certain as I am, but she said I should write to you anyway. You used to give me piggyback rides to the corner store and buy me tootsie rolls, and we would make up songs for our toys to sing. Your favorite was a stuffed animal rhinoserous you named Stinky, and mine was a terrycloth rabbit that I called Pink Jumpy. I remember one time I broke your favorite blue crayon when we were coloring together and I knew you wanted to cry, but you didn’t. You said thank you, Emmy, because now we can both use it at the same time. Does that sound right? I hope I have the right person; it will be very awkward if I am wrong. I don’t think I’m wrong, though. I have some drawings from you, too, and they are very good, so it makes sense that you would be an artist now. If I am wrong, please forget all of this. If I am right, though, and you are my brother, then I would love to meet you in person. If you would like that, too, then you can write to me at the return address on this letter, you can email me at: emma.jane.shepherd@gmail.com, I’m on Twitter at: emmybirdtweets, and of course you can text or call me, too. My number is: xxx-xxx-xxxx._

_Thank you for your time, and I hope you are well._

_Sincerely,_

_Emma Shepherd_

 

“It's really her?” Katherine asked stupidly, setting the letter down as soon as she’d finished so that she didn’t tear or stain the paper.

“It’s really her,” he confirmed, still not lifting his head.

“Wow,” Katherine breathed, bracing her hands on top of her head. “I… wow, Jack.”

He grunted and pulled his legs in closer.

“Um…” she said, wiping her suddenly-sweaty hands on her floral print skirt. “Should I… do you want to be alone?” 

He shrugged.

“I… okay, I… I’m going to let you process for a bit, and I’ll, uh, I’ll be at the Starbucks on the corner for the next, um… for the next couple of hours? So I can be back in ten minutes if you want. Just let me know, okay, babe?” 

He nodded against his knees, and she bent to place a quick kiss to the nape of his neck. “She missed you, sweetheart. She missed you and she loves you and she wants to meet you. Hang on to that.” He made no response, and she slipped out of the apartment and down the stairs.

 

*

 

Katherine flicked her eyes up to Jack and noted the rivulets of sweat trickling down his face. She squeezed his hand and pulled a tissue out of her pocket, dabbing at his forehead. “It’s going to be okay, Jackie,” she said softly, trying not to wince as he gripped her hand even more tightly. Honestly, she wished they’d scheduled this meeting sooner; he’d been a wreck ever since getting Emmy’s letter. His artistic output had doubled even as his food intake plummeted, and she’d been spending two or three nights a week lulling him to sleep over the phone. In fact, the last four days had been so bad that she’d given up and had him sleep over at hers, holding him until he drifted off and carding her fingers through his hair when the nightmares hit. It had bought him a few hours a night, but no more than that; he was always long gone by the time she got up for work at 6am. 

“Fuck,” he whispered, looking over at the café tables in front of the Central Park Boathouse where they’d agreed to meet. “Fuck, Kitty, that’s her, that’s my Emmy, oh, fuck, I… No, no, no, I can’t do this,” he said in a rush, whirling around and starting to walk the other way. 

Katherine hurried after him and caught his hand. “Baby,” she said, “Hey now, cowboy, it’s going to be fine. It’s going to be _fine_. I’ll come meet Emmy and sit with you as long as you need me to, okay? And then I’ll be right over the hill at the Hans Christian Andersen statue, and I’m going to sit there and read until you tell me to go. You need to come get me, you need me to fake an emergency for you, you need anything at all, I’m right there. Two minutes’ walk, that’s it. Okay, Jackie? That okay?”

He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, rolled his shoulders, and then nodded. “Okay,” he said, his throat dry. She patted his shoulder and started towing him back towards the Boathouse. He still looked wan and on edge, she reflected, but at least he was headed in the right direction again. When they reached the entrance to the café he slowed, stiffened, and stood to stare at his baby sister, now all grown up. 

Emmy was sitting at a table in the back corner, oblivious to Jack and Katherine’s stares (or at least pretending to be), poring over a graphic novel that Jack remembered reading when he was about her age. She was wearing an emerald green button-wrap romper, and her dark, shoulder-length hair was kept out of her face by a simple braid running from one temple to the other. She could have been any college girl out for an afternoon in the sunshine; there was nothing about her that betrayed the importance of this moment. It would have been easy for Katherine to walk right by her. And then she looked up. 

Katherine’s breath caught as she got her first good look at Jack’s sister. And my goodness, there could be no doubt—she was definitely his sister. Emmy’s features were more delicate than Jack’s, yes, with her softer jawline and snub nose, but her expressive eyebrows, her high cheekbones, her coloring, her wide hazel eyes—that was all Jack. She ventured a smile and a little wave, motioning them over to her, and her smile—that was all Jack, too. Katherine grinned and tugged Jack along after her, guiding him into the seat across from Emmy, while she took the one next to Jack. 

“You must be Emma!” She said brightly, extending her hand. “I’m Katherine, one of Jack’s friends—I’m so sorry for crashing your meeting, but he’s told me all about you, and I absolutely couldn’t wait to meet you.” Emmy shook her hand, a little bemused, and Katherine added, “What’s that you’re reading? Any good? Are you an artist, too?”

Emmy smiled widely at that. “It’s _Berlin: City of Stones,_ ” she said, slipping a napkin in to mark her place and then sliding the book across to Katherine. “It’s very good.” Her eyes flicked to Jack then, and she blushed. “And no, I’m not an artist. Not like Jack, anyway.”

Jack made a strangled noise and stretched a trembling hand out to Emmy, who took it and held it in both of hers. “You’re real,” he said, his voice raspy. “You’re _here_.” 

She bent her head and nodded, staring at her dainty hands on top of his, which was rougher and paint-stained. 

“I missed you,” he said, his voice catching. “I missed you so much, Emmy, and I’ve been searching for you for so long, and every day I wondered where you were, and what you were doing, and now… now I don’t have to wonder no more, and I… I just…” He covered his face with his right hand and began to cry.

Katherine’s eyes filled with tears, too, and she instinctively moved to comfort him, but she pulled back just as quickly when she saw Emmy rise, circle the table to stand at Jack’s side, and bend to hug him. “I missed you, too,” she said, her voice wobbly. “I was so little then that I don’t remember much, but I… I remember that you made me feel safe, Jack, so safe and loved and utterly invincible, and then I…” She shook her head as he cried against her stomach. “Growing up I always felt like there was a piece of me missing, and I…” She bit her lip and took a shaky breath. “I just mean that I… seeing you looking at me just now, hearing your voice, it's… well, now I know that...” She started crying then, her pretty face crumpling in an instant. “Now I know why I felt that way, Jackdaw. I wasn't missing a piece of myself—I was missing  _you_." She inclined her head to look down at him, her tears falling into his hair. "Oh, Jackie, I've missed you so _much!_  And I... I can't imagine... When you... If I... Oh, I just wish that…” She began to sob in earnest then, and Jack rose to pull her flush against him, rubbing her back and crying into her shoulder. 

“My Emmybird,” he said, the two of them rocking each other gently from side to side, “My sweet baby. What do you wish? What do you want? Tell me, lovey, an’ I’ll make it happen. Anything you want. Anything at all. I swear it.”

“I wish…” She choked out, clutching his soft crew-neck shirt in a death grip. “Please be real?” She asked, stepping back to look upwards at his tear-stained face. Then she shuddered and cracked her heart open for him. “Please stay?” 

He shut his eyes and pulled her to him once more, taking one hand from her back and starting to stroke her hair. “Ohhhh, Emmy,” he sighed. “My dear, sweet Emma Jane. I’m as real as can be, an’ I promise you, lovey, I _promise_ —I ain’t goin’ nowhere. Never. Never, never, never. Your Jackdaw ain’t gonna lose you ever again, Emmybird. Never.”

“Spit shake?” She asked, her voice quivering.

“Spit shake,” he said, laughing through his tears as Katherine made her exit, unnoticed by either sibling. “Oh, how I love you, my Emmybird.”

“I love you, too, Jackie.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I hc that once Jack went back to the Refuge after juvie, Charlie (Crutchie) showed up not long after, and Jack immediately glommed onto Charlie. This wasn't purely because Charlie's disability reminded Jack of Emmy; the boys' relationship wouldn't have lasted if it were. Although Charlie was about four years older than Emmy, he was similarly sweet and adorable and had the same wickedly spunky, devilish streak as Jack's sister, so Jack instinctively felt close to him. The upshot of all this is that Jack quickly transferred all of his big brother attentions to Charlie and swore that he would make up for having failed Emmy by protecting his new brother for all he was worth.
> 
> The Emmy-sized hole in Jack's heart has now been filled! Hurrah! 
> 
> Tell me what you thought please please please <33333


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jack can't quite translate professional success into personal success

**October (age 26)**

 

“I think we oughta leave now, yeah?” Jack said, redoing the cuffs on his dress shirt for the millionth time.

Emmy poked her head out of the bathroom and said, “We have time; you’re not supposed to be there for another two hours.” 

Jack nodded, reached to fiddle with his baseball cap, made an exasperated noise when his hand hit his neatly combed hair instead, and began to pace across the living room, his hands braced on the back of his neck.

“Why are you so worried?” Emmy called, going back to applying her makeup. “Everything’s ready; all you have to do is show up and smile at people who want to buy your work.”

“Ain’t that simple,” Jack muttered, reaching the far wall and starting back again.

“More than half the guests are people you invited personally,” she reminded him. “They’re going to be super supportive and talk you up to all the people you don’t know. No one’s going to say anything mean or… Hmm, what sort of things are you scared of, Jackdaw? No one’s gonna… pull your pants down in the middle of the gallery?”

“If they do I’ll soak ‘em,” Jack growled, kicking at the bottom of the sofa.

She cast him a worried look. “I think you should call Katherine.” 

“Why?” He asked, knitting his brows. “I’m gonna see her in a couple hours.”

“Just… just call her, okay? She should be here instead of me; she’d know what to say to you.” Jack’s face fell, and Emmy winced, pausing in the middle of applying her lipstick. “I didn’t mean it like _that_ , Jackie! Katherine just… she has several years on me, is all. We’re catching up, you an’ me, an’ we’ll get there, but... we’re not to Katherine levels yet.” Emmy smiled, her lips two different shades of colors for the time being. “Besides, ‘s good that you have people beyond me, you know. I don’t want to be your everything.”

Jack exhaled deeply and scratched at the back of his neck. “Yeah. You’re right. My shrink says the same, actually, ‘bout how I don’t hafta do ev’rythin’ with people in order ta make sure they don’t lea—I mean, uh, well. Anyway. Yeah. Okay. I’ll call her.” He walked over to the bathroom and bent slightly to kiss the top of her head. “Thanks, Emmybird.”

“I love you, Jackdaw,” she said, meeting his eyes in the mirror. He flushed and ducked his head before leaving the bathroom and pulling out his phone. 

“Hey buttercup!” Katherine’s buoyant greeting rang out. “What’s up?” 

“Kitty, I… It’s… Ah, it’s this _fuckin’_ —” he said loudly, then clapped a hand over his mouth and whirled around to look in the direction of the bathroom. “Oh, no, Emmy, I—” 

“I’m old enough for R-rated movies, Jack,” Emmy called.

“Right, yeah, still,” he yelled. “Sorry.”

Katherine smiled into the phone. “Nervous?”

“Nervous as f—I mean as sh—” Katherine stifled a giggle as Jack whispered a disgruntled ‘dammit’ under his breath before finally settling on, “Yeah. Yeah, I’m nervous.”

“You’re going to do amazing, baby,” Katherine reassured him. “But in the meantime, do you want me to come over and distract you?” 

“Distract me how?” Jack asked, casting a glance backwards to the bathroom. 

“I don’t know; tell you stupid jokes? I heard a good one the other day about the coefficient of friction.” 

Jack groaned. “Remind me again why we’re best friends?” He looked over his shoulder to raise his eyebrows at Emmy, who’d just made a noise of surprise, but he couldn’t decipher her frown, so he went back to his conversation. 

“Because I’m witty and wonderful and you enjoy tagging along for the ride,” Katherine said.

Jack snorted. “Yeah, uh huh, you keep thinkin’ that, babe.” He turned to Emmy and said, “Hey, Emmybird, settle this for me—who’s cooler, me or Katherine?” 

She giggled. “Definitely Katherine.”

His lips twitched as he struggled not to laugh, and he heard Katherine’s amusement echo down the phone line. “I walked right into that one, huh?” He asked, winking at Emmy and putting his phone back up to his ear. “Come over?” 

“I’ll be there in an hour.”

Jack whined. “Kaaaaaatherine, you only live a half hour away, why ain’t you here _now_?”

“Because,” she said, speaking very slowly and clearly, as if to an overtired toddler, “I have to get ready for your gallery show opening, and I only just started. Looking as good as I do takes some work, you know.”

He sank down onto the couch and huffed into the phone, “But I neeeeed you.” Then he brightened. “Hey! Just bring your stuff over here an’ do all the primpin’ with Emmy! Girls like doin’ that shit t’gether, right? It’ll be fun! You two c’n, I dunno, stick fake eyelashes on each other an’ shit? Curl each other’s hair?”

“My hair is naturally curly, Jack,” Katherine said, “But if it’ll make you stop whining, I’m game. Ask Emmy?”

He flopped over the back of the couch and looked at his sister, who was struggling with her eyeliner. “Emmy?”

“ _Please_ ,” she said, “I’m terrible at makeup, tell her to get over here yesterday.”

Jack grinned and resettled himself on the couch. “You comin’ over ASAP has the Kelly-Shepherd seal of approval, babe,” he said. “So get your ass on that subway. An’ then in my livin’ room. So’s I can admire it.” Katherine laughed, Emmy made a strangled noise, and Jack hung up immediately. “Shit, Emmy, I didn’t—”

“I don’t want to know!” She said, her cheeks flaming. “You’re an adult, what you do with your girlfriend is your business, it’s totally fine! Just—I’m going to focus on this eyeliner thing, thanks, you… you go back to whatever it is you were doing…” She turned to the mirror and tried very hard not to poke herself in the eye.

Jack knit his brows. “Hey, wait a sec—my _girlfriend_?”

Emmy gave him an incredulous look. “Yes, your girlfriend. You know, Katherine? Who you were just talking to?”

Jack started to laugh. “You thought—you really—” He laughed so hard he snorted. “Oh man, I… That’s… Ohhhhh fuck, I can’t breathe, I…” He clutched his stomach and struggled for air. “Ohhhhh, ouch, I… No, no—you got it all wrong, Emmybird; she ain’t my girlfriend.”

“That’s the weirdest thing to lie about,” Emmy said, rolling her eyes. “You’re 26, Jack, you don’t need to shield me from the fact that you have romantic relationships.”

“I’m serious!” Jack insisted, flipping around and drumming on the back of the couch. “We’s best friends, but that’s all. Strictly platonic.”

“Stop trying to pull one over on me like this,” Emmy said, poking at her eye again. “It’s not gonna work.”

“Really!” Jack looked around and found a pen to throw at her. “I mean it!”

The pen bounced off of Emmy’s hand, and she yelped as she drew a thick black line halfway across her face. “Jack!”

“Whoops,” he said sheepishly, trying not to laugh as tiny little Emmy stood there glaring at him, her makeup a total loss. “Sorry.” 

“No, you’re not,” she said huffily.

Jack leapt over the couch and ran to give her a hug. “I am, I really am, I _am_ , oh no, oh shit, please don’t be mad at me, baby, please, I—” He pulled back to examine her face and scrambled for a washcloth, starting to rub at her cheek. “Katherine’ll be here soon, Katherine’ll fix it, oh fuck, I’m sorry, lovey, please—”

Emmy set her hands on Jack’s shoulders to stop him from running around the bathroom like a chicken with his head cut off. “Jackdaw,” she said, “ ‘S okay. I’m not really mad. I’m sorry. It’s okay. We’re okay. Gimme a hug?”

He pulled her crushingly close, and she shut her eyes as she heard how frantically his heart was racing. He took a shuddering breath and asked, “You… you sure? You really ain’t mad? You don’t… you…” His voice went high and shaky. “You don’t hate me now?”

“No, Jackie,” she said, nestling in close. “Never. I love you forever an’ ever an’ ever, I promise. I mean it. No matter what. You’re stuck with me, Jackdaw. For the rest of our lives, you’re stuck with me. Because now that I’ve found you, I’m never letting go.” 

He nodded into her shoulder, and she let him hug her entirely too tightly for entirely too long. He didn’t release her until Katherine arrived, but Emmy didn’t mind. She meant what she’d said—now that she’d found him, she’d never let him go.

 

*

 

Katherine could tell that Jack was beyond nervous when they showed up to the art gallery with her on his right arm, Emmy on his left, but she figured most of the people scheduled to be there—with the exceptions of Medda, Charlie, and Davey—wouldn’t have a clue. Honestly, she thought, unless you were intimately acquainted with all of his little tells, you’d have thought he was as cool and poised as Cary Grant. He had on his brightest smile, his dark hair had been brushed until it gleamed, and his dove gray suit was perfectly tailored. He’d even spit-shined his shoes, although both Katherine and Emmy had gagged when seeing him do it. (“You could’ve just used water, Jack.” “Then why’s it called a spit-shine?”) 

“Knock ‘em dead, babe,” Katherine whispered, straightening his tie, placing her hands on his chest, and kissing him on the cheek.

He dipped his head and placed one of his hands over hers. “Yeah.”

Katherine stood aside to let Emmy give him a hug. “Best big brother ever,” she said, grinning. Jack winked at her, took a deep breath, and went to shake hands with the curator, the gallery owner, and several staff members. The doors opened not long after, and soon enough the small space was flooded with smartly dressed Manhattanites angling for handshakes and face time with the hot new artist whose work, according to the gallery invitation, “has skillfully encapsulated the uncertainty, the breakneck speed, and, paradoxically, the simultaneous hope and despair that characterize the modern era.” (Jack had found it pretentious, but he couldn’t argue with the size of the crowd or the pace of the sales.)

The crowd began to thin as the night wore on, until finally only Jack, the gallery staff, and Jack’s close friends remained. The boys were starting to get a little bit rowdy, and Katherine and Davey, reading the room, decided to usher them out so as to give Jack a little time to wrap things up with the gallery owner. As soon as he’d finished the business side of his business, though, he was out on the sidewalk with the rest of them, whooping and hollering and giving hugs all around.

“Fuckin’ hell, Jackie, that was some show!” Albert yelled, jumping onto Jack’s back and ruining Jack’s hairdo by rubbing his face back and forth in it like an overexcited dog.

“Ah, fuck off,” Jack said, shoving his hand in Albert’s face and pushing until Albert jumped down again.

“Yeah, Jackie, that was some impressive shit,” Race said, mock-punching Jack in the stomach several times, “But now comes the _real_ fun, yeah?” He raised his voice so the whole gang could hear and said, “Who’s up for drinks!”

The boys roared, and Emmy shot a look at Katherine. “It’s like he’s the king of a really weird frat,” she said, and Katherine snorted. 

“That’s a pretty good description, actually,” she said, taking in the sight of Jack’s large group of friends, who, despite being dressed to the nines, were happily smacking and elbowing and insulting each other. “They’re a lovable, ridiculous, disaster frat.” 

Emmy giggled as Jack fended off Finch’s gleefully affectionate playfighting. Jack lit up at the sound of her laughter and shook Finch off, walking over to sling his arm across Emmy’s shoulders. “So, Emmybird, where to next? Am I taking you home? To your dorm? Are you crashing at mine?” 

“What do you mean, where to next? You’re going out with your boys,” she said, patting his cheek. “This was a big evening for you; you gotta go celebrate.” 

Jack pursed his lips. “Hmm. I’m sure I know a few places what’ll let underage kids in so long’s you get those x’s on your hands or somethin’, so that oughta be fine… Hey, Charlie!” He turned sideways and motioned Charlie over. “You know any bars in Manhattan that Emmy c’n go to with us?”

Emmy cut him off. “What? No, Jackie, I’m headed back to the dorms now. You go have fun wherever you want.”

Jack frowned. “Nuh uh, I ain’t celebratin’ without you! We’s goin’ somewhere you c’n come or we ain’t goin’ at all.” 

Emmy smiled and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “That’s sweet of you, but I’m serious. I’m wiped, my leg needs a break, and Gracie gets worried if I stay out too late.”

“Well, I still ain’t lettin’ you go back on your own,” Jack said. “Night, fellas!” He called. “I’m takin’ my baby sister back ta college, ‘cause, unlike you bums, she’s a star student what makes smart life choices an’ gets enough sleep. Thank ya so much for comin’, an’ I’ll see ya later!” 

This elicited boos and groans from the boys and a huff from Emmy. “Jack!” She protested. “I’ve lived in the city my whole life, I do _not_ need you to escort me places!”

“Hell, Emmy, I know that! An’ trust me, lovey, that ain’t the issue, it’s—uh, it’s…” He shifted from foot to foot and looked down at the pavement. “I don’t wanna leave you outta the fun?” 

“Spending the night getting drunk isn’t my idea of fun,” she said dryly. 

Jack growled in frustration. “Fine. Fine. I lied. It’s that I… I don’t wanna go if you ain’t comin’. I don’t want you ta… I don’t wanna…” He shook his head and clammed up.

Emmy gripped his forearm and shook it a little. “You’re not leaving me out. You can enjoy yourself without me there.” She lowered her voice and said seriously, “I’m not your everything, remember?”

Jack bit his lip and nodded. “Yeah. I know. An’ you… you ain’t gonna leave me just ‘cause… ‘cause I went out without ya.” He wrestled with himself a moment and then said in a rush, “Right? You ain’t, right? You’ll still be there?”

“I’ll still be there,” she said quietly. “I’ll always be there, Jackdaw. Always. You go have fun with your boys,” she said, smoothing his mussed hair back into place as well as she could. “And we’ll see each other soon.”

“Okay,” he said, clearing his throat. “You… you promise?”

“I promise,” she said, holding her arms out for a hug.

Jack wasn’t a large man by any stretch of the imagination, but he dwarfed his diminutive sister, folding her into his chest and pressing a soft kiss to her hair. “Okay, Emmybird,” he said, finally releasing her, “Lemme at least get you a cab, yeah? Don’t want ya walkin’ any more than ya hafta when your leg’s hurtin’.”

She didn’t fight him on that one, and the whole group waited until Jack had seen Emmy off, all of them waving as the yellow taxi peeled away from the curb.

Romeo elbowed Jack and said, “Hey, Jackie—your sister’s hot.”

“She’s also my fuckin’ _sister_ , you dumbass,” Jack said, smacking Romeo upside the head. “Peepers shut when she walks by, ya hear?”

The other boys jeered at Romeo, who held his hands up and slunk to the outside of the pack. 

“Hey, boss—is we goin’ out or what?” Tommy asked. “I’m gettin’ thirsty over here.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jack said, linking arms with Katherine, shaking Davey lightly, and starting off down the street.

 

*

 

The crowd dwindled over the course of the night, and eventually Katherine decided it was time for her to make her exit, too. She settled her tab, slipped over to Jack, tapped him on the shoulder, and said, “Congratulations, Jack. I’m so proud of you. You were wonderful.”

“You headed out?” He asked, finishing up the last of his rum and coke. She nodded, and he signaled for the bartender. “Lemme walk ya home, then.”

He helped her on with her coat and held the door for her, both of them shivering slightly at the crisp October air. They were mostly silent on the way back, aside from a few quick laughs at things they saw along the way, such as Dino’s Shoe Repair (Katherine: “I want a dinosaur to fix my shoes!” Jack: “You think he’d spit-shine ‘em for me?”) and light-up signs with burned-out lightbulbs (Jack: “‘Dun nuts.’ Ooh, we should come back in the mornin’ an’ get some dun nuts, doncha think?” Katherine: “Definitely. I can hardly make it through the day without a dun nut.”). Somewhere along the way their hands met and clung and stayed, and Katherine found herself walking closer and closer to him. Her apartment building arrived all too quickly, though, and she sighed as they found themselves staring up at the gray monster she called home.

“Right, then,” Jack said, dropping her hand and running it through his hair, which had reverted into its usual messy waves. “Thanks for comin’, K. I’m real glad ya could make it. I know we ain’t spent ‘s much time together since Emmy came back, an’ I… thanks f’r stickin’ by me anyway. Um.” 

She stopped fishing for her keys and gave him a smile. “You two need time alone together, Jack; I understand that. And sure, you have Emmy now, but that doesn’t mean the end of you and me. You’re my best friend, babe—we’ll always make time for each other.” 

He relaxed and nodded. “Yeah. Good. Yeah.”

He turned to leave as she slotted the key into the lock, but she grabbed his wrist and said, “Hey, wait—I have that book upstairs, the one you wanted to borrow? Come on up and I’ll give it to you.”

Jack’s eyes widened briefly, and something flashed across his face that made Katherine think maybe inviting him up late at night after drinks and an emotional high might not have been her best idea ever, but… too late now.

They shuffled into the tiny elevator and watched the numbers flick by, trying to avoid eye contact with each other, trying not to be hyperaware of the other’s scent and breath and closeness…

The tension lessened slightly in the hallway, but it roared back in full force as soon as they entered Katherine’s apartment. Which was a studio apartment. Which meant that the bed – _her_ bed, her perfectly made, oh-so-comfortable queen-size bed—was right there. Riiiiight there. Staring both of them in the face. Jack’s eyes flicked to the bed even as Katherine slipped to the nightstand to grab the book she’d mentioned, both of them feeling like someone had dialed the thermostat up far too high.

“Here,” Katherine said, shoving the book at him. 

“Thanks,” he said gruffly, making sure not to brush her hand as he took it from her.

Katherine looked up at him and took a step forwards; she felt as if she were floating on the ceiling watching herself, silently begging herself to be brave and do it even as she beat against the walls inside her head and screamed to stop, please stop, please be sensible, don’t you dare ruin your relationship with your very best friend in the whole world, you can’t lose him, you can’t ruin this, oh shit, what are you doing, Katherine, you’re going to ruin it, stop…

“I’m so proud of you, Jackie,” she whispered, running a hand down the side of his face, her heart leaping as she saw his eyes flutter shut and his jaw go slack. She kissed his cheek, heard him sigh, and pulled back to study his beautiful face. He struggled to open his eyes, but when he finally did, she said, “Another one? Just for good luck?”

“Yeah, yeah, that can’t hurt,” he said, already leaning in.

“No, definitely not,” she said, pressing her lips to his and melting into his arms. She felt him cradle the back of her head in one hand, his strong artist’s fingers winding their way through her curls. She responded by wrapping one arm around his neck and using the other to tug gently at his hair, reveling in its softness. He opened his lips involuntarily at the sensation, and she took the opportunity to deepen the kiss beyond something that she could pass off as having been for luck. 

“Katherine,” he moaned into her mouth, “Oh, fuck, Kitty, I…” 

She shut him up with a series of deep, sensual French kisses that had him weak at the knees—they made her feel wobbly, too, if she were being honest about it, but… she wasn’t, she couldn’t be, if she were then she’d have to admit she’d ruined their friendship, and she wasn’t going to do that, because this wasn’t anything serious, it was just… just a bit of fun? Just something that felt good? Just a way to let off some steam? Just… 

Jack tugged his lips from hers then and moved down to her neck, causing her to arch her back and cry out at the sharpness of his teeth on her skin. “Oh, that’s good, do it again,” she begged, and he complied, moving to the other side of her neck and then returning to her mouth for more desperate kisses. Her hands were in his hair now, and then tugging at his tie and the buttons of his shirt, and then, in a burst of inspiration, she remembered exactly how she’d teased him last time and forced his head sideways so that she could nibble and suck and kiss the delicate, sensitive skin behind his ears. 

Jack let out a low cry at that and ran his hands up her waist and then her ribcage before finally settling over her breasts, and fuck, she had on a dress and a bra—a padded push-up bra, even—but the pressure of his hands there _still_ made her feel like she was about to combust. “Jack,” she said between kisses, “Please, Jack…” But she wasn’t sure what she wanted, and he wasn’t sure what she was asking for, and so she settled on stumble-walking with him to her bed, pushing him steadily backwards until his knees hit the baseboard and he fell onto the mattress, her toppling onto him with a thump. 

She knew it couldn’t have been comfortable for him, her whole weight on his torso, pressing him into her coverlet, but they were both too busy to care. “Katherine,” he panted, “Oh, Katherine, you’re so good, this is so good…”

She made a soft noise and bent to kiss him on the mouth again, tugging at his lip and catching the lingering taste of alcohol. She pressed in still further as he slid his hands up her dress and started to fondle her ass—and hell, he’d admired it for so long, she thought wildly, why not give him a feel? It couldn’t hurt, it couldn’t hurt, it couldn’t hurt…

She slid her hand down to his crotch and made him jerk beneath her, his eyes squeezing instantly shut. She laughed and straightened, reaching to tug at the hem of her dress and pull it over her head. His eyes snapped back open once he realized that her lips and hands were no longer working him into a frenzy, and he was just about to whine when he realized that she’d had a very good reason to make him wait. 

“Holy fuck,” he breathed, looking up at her as he laid on her bed, utterly enthralled by the vision of Katherine, dressed only in her bra and underwear, straddling his waist. She grinned at his reaction; she’d wondered for so long what he would think of her like this, whether she’d be a disappointment to him, whether he would ever allow this or want this or imagine her this way, and it seemed she finally had her answers. He was entranced. He was speechless. He was parched in the desert and she was the oasis. She bent down again to meet his lips, sliding her legs ever so slightly up his torso.

“Ohhhhh,” he moaned, his fingers digging into her ass. It hurt, although not enough to mention. And honestly? She hoped he left bruises—she wanted something to remember this by in case tomorrow morning she tried to convince herself that it had been a fever dream. In case this never happened again. Which… which it wouldn’t. Because she was driving him away. Doing this, all of this, it felt so good, it was just what she wanted, it was better than she’d even dreamed, oh _fuck_ , that was it, right there, Jack, do that again—and she was losing her mind, she knew it, every last bit of sense was dissolving in the heat of his strong hands on her skin, his breath in her mouth, his taut body pressed against hers, and _fuck_ he smelled good, and dear heaven, he tasted even better, and that’s right, Jack, put your tongue right there, oh stars above how was he so _perfect_ , she’d never felt like this before, so perfectly safe and right and wanted and… and like she was enough, like she didn’t have to change in order to be valued, like she didn’t need to put on a performance in order to be loved… but… but every last kiss was a nail in the coffin of their friendship. Every shared breath and undone button was deepening the gulf that would lie between them as soon as the night ended. And yet…

 _In for a penny, in for a pound_ , she thought, and she untucked his dress shirt and began undoing the remaining buttons, slowly at first, and then faster and faster. She slipped a hand down his pants once more just to see how he was coming along, and then she yanked his arms away from her so she could wrestle his shirt off. She growled in frustration at the discovery of a cotton undershirt that was blocking her access to his body, and she started to roll up the fabric, placing kisses at the waistband of his dress pants and along the line of hair that led to his navel. She marked several old scars as she went, filing them away to ask about later, and began to make little noises of impatience as she found herself unable to pull his undershirt off quickly.

Jack had been fairly passive up to now, almost as if he were moving through a dream, but her sounds and futile efforts on his undershirt stung him awake. To her surprise, he sat bolt upright and yanked his undershirt back down. His sudden movement caused her to fall backwards and knock her head on the wooden footboard, and _fuck,_ that _hurt_. He flinched as she cried out in pain, and then they stared at each other for a few seconds, his jaw clenched, her face flushed scarlet, both of them panting heavily.

Jack broke the silence first, his voice raw. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I—”

“It’s okay,” she said, waving her hand and wishing that she weren’t blushing like an idiot. She rolled off the bed and pulled open the top drawer of her dresser, grabbing an oversized t-shirt that she immediately pulled on over her lacy red bra and thong. 

“No,” he said, “No, it’s not…” He squeezed his eyes shut and clutched at her down comforter to steady himself. “I… It’s…” He sighed and shook his head. “They’s a lot of scars there that I ain’t ready ta tell ya about, that’s all,” he said, eyes still firmly closed. 

“Ohhh, baby,” she said, climbing back onto the bed and chucking him under the chin. “Look at me, Jackie, okay? Just real quick, then you can close your eyes again.”

Jack grimaced but did manage to squint at her.

“Hey Jack, hey. It’s okay. It’s okay, baby, you hear me?” She brushed her thumb along his jawline and he shivered, his mouth opening at her touch. “We’re friends, Jack; I’m not going to push you to tell me anything you’re not ready to.”

“Friends,” he croaked, and bit his lip. She tried not to notice how wide his pupils were, how alluring that gold-flecked hazel was, how well it contrasted with his dusky rose lips… 

“Always,” she said, giving him what she hoped came across as a confident smile. He sent her an anguished look and his lower lip trembled, but she pretended she hadn’t noticed. That she didn’t understand. She wasn’t going to acknowledge the desire in his eyes, and she wasn’t going to admit to the reciprocal lust that she felt sparking through her veins. No way. No. This wasn’t happening. This could still be salvageable. She didn’t have to lose him. Maybe… maybe they could still go back. Maybe they didn’t have to take this somewhere that ended up with both of them alone, him crying on Emmy’s shoulder, her crying… to herself. Alone. Alone again. Alone because she wasn’t good enough, would never be good enough, couldn’t possibly be good enough to be loved long-term by anyone who mattered. 

So instead she offered up the biggest smile she had, slipped under the covers, patted the empty space next to her, and said, “Come here, Jackie. Let me give you a hug.”

He swallowed hard, scanning her face, and she kept her smile steady even as she saw that he was on the verge of tears. She was, too, but she refused to waver. This was better. This was the best she could have from him. She wasn’t enough for him; she knew that. She wasn’t someone he could love fully and completely and forever, not as more than a friend, not as a woman with flaws and foibles and unfixable imperfections, and, well, if she couldn’t have him forever, then she didn’t want him at all. Not like that. Not when it would end in heartbreak she couldn’t bear, and then she’d know what she was missing, and she’d have to watch him move on with someone better... No. He was the best thing in her life, the best man, the best person, and if she asked him for more then he’d find out she wasn’t worth giving it to, and she’d be alone. Alone, alone, alone. Alone without Jack.

He choked back a sob and hugged her tightly, and she acted as if she didn’t feel his tears on her skin. “We’re drunk,” she lied, and he made a noise of assent, ready to play along with whatever fiction she wanted to create. 

Katherine felt her heart begin to crack, and suddenly everything hurt, and she was dizzy with anger, and why did she ruin everything, and… No. Focus on fixing this, Katherine. You can still fix this. So she laid them down side by side in her bed and pressed a series of soft, sweet kisses to his cheeks and eyelids, waiting for his tears to slow before nestling her head against his chest. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I can’t.” She hoped he understood; she felt too numb, too detached, too fragile to manage anything more. 

He nodded against her, knowing that he should throw caution to the wind and tell her that he wasn’t drunk and neither was she, tell her that he knew what he wanted and that he wanted _her_ , tell her that he loved her, that he had for years, that he loved her and needed her and couldn’t imagine life without her, that he had to clear the air because this dance was tearing him apart, that whatever it was she thought she couldn’t do, well, he knew she _could_ , because she could do anything, anything at all, anything she wanted was hers for the taking, and that included him, oh _fuck_ would she please just take him, have him, hold him, love him… But he couldn’t. He just… he couldn’t do it. She knew what he’d meant, and she’d said no.

And as they lay there together, holding each other close as if to keep from drowning, listening to their breathing synchronize and slow, falling asleep in each other’s arms, they knew that even though they’d never been physically closer, they’d never been further apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiiiiii yes I know I am torturing you but only two more chapters so like hang on don't worry everything is under control
> 
> tell me what you thought! :D


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Which is a little bit shorter, but which will probably leave you just as frustrated as before. Sorry not sorry.

**April (age 26)**

“He’s so cute, Nina!”

“Aww, thanks, Kath. He’s a handful, but he’s _my_ handful, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. I never thought I’d want to be a mother; I really thought my career was it for me, but…” Nina bounced her baby on her lap and tickled his pudgy tummy until he squealed and grinned. “Now I can’t imagine doing anything else. I’m so glad Raoul makes enough that I can stay home.” 

Katherine reached over to hold baby Aiden’s hand and make silly faces at him. “A boo, a boo, a wheeeere’s Aiden?” She said, covering his eyes with one hand. “Peek-a-boo!” She exclaimed, pulling her hand back and smiling widely at him. He laughed and wiggled and reached for Katherine’s hand to play again. She happily obliged. 

“What about you, Kath? I know back in college all of us were totally focused on getting that perfect job lined up and riding the elevator all the way up through the glass ceiling; is that still where you’re at?” Aiden began to fuss, and Nina reached for the pacifier clipped to his onesie and stuck it in his mouth. “You’re so good with Aiden—any thoughts of having your own little ones in the future?”

Katherine gave a heavy sigh and leaned back in her chair at the café. “That’s the million-dollar question right now, Nee. I know I have time, but it doesn’t feel like it sometimes…” She took off her glasses and rubbed at her eyes. “I mean, I have to find someone first, and that’s a huge hurdle, because I want to have time to meet them and get to know them and then be married for a little while before adding a small child to the mix, so… what if I don’t find anyone in time for all of that? Or what if I don’t meet anyone in time to have kids at all? My mom had five by thirty, and _that_ ship has sailed for me, obviously…” She shrugged. “Not that I want five, anyway, but… Yeah, I don’t know. The thoughts are there, sure, but the logistical side of things is still pretty murky.”

Nina frowned. “What, does Jack not want kids?”

Katherine blinked. “What on earth does Jack have to do with anything?”

Nina gave Katherine an incredulous look. “Uhhh, he’s your _boyfriend_?”

“My _what_?” Katherine’s voice rose an octave, and Aiden’s eyes went wide.

“What do you mean, your what?” Nina said, staring at Katherine like she’d grown an extra head. “You two are basically my favorite couple!”

“We are not a couple,” Katherine said indignantly, causing Nina to gasp and grip Katherine’s hand in sympathy.

“Oh no! Are you serious? You two have been dating for _years_ , I keep waiting for the wedding invitation in my mailbox—when did you break up, Kath? Oh my gosh, I am _so_ sorry—I had no idea! I really didn’t mean to—”

Katherine interrupted hastily. “No, no, no, Nina, that’s not it at all! I just mean that we’ve never dated?” She gave her friend a reassuring smile. “You didn’t put your foot in anything, don’t worry—there’s nothing there! We’re just friends!” 

“You two really aren’t dating?” Nina said slowly, squinting at Katherine as if her college roommate were a used car salesman. 

“No!” Katherine said, and laughed. “Definitely not.”

 

*

 

“Can you believe it?” Katherine said, giggling over ice cream in Central Park with Jack. “She was so shocked!”

Jack put his spoon down, tilted his head, and gave Katherine an odd look. “Katherine… d’you think… I mean… _are_ we dating?” 

“What? No! Don’t be silly, Jackie—we’re not dating!” She said, throwing her crumpled napkin at his head.

A mixed expression flitted across his face and then he laughed, too. “Yeah, no, we’re definitely not dating. We’d know if we were dating, right?”

“Gosh, yes,” she said. “We’d be all over each other; we’d know.” 

He winked at her and licked the back of his ice cream spoon in a faux seductive fashion, wiggling his eyebrows at her as he did so.

She rolled her eyes and shimmied her shoulders at him. “So sexy, Mr. Kelly.”

“Hubba hubba,” he said back at her, and she snorted.

“Nooooope, not dating,” she said, turning her attention back to her ice cream. Then she paused, frowned, looked up at him, and ventured, “We’re… just friends? Best friends! Best friends who… kiss sometimes?”

“I’m good with that,” Jack said, shrugging, bent over his two scoops of mint chocolate chip.

“Yeah?” Katherine asked, sounding uncertain. 

Jack nodded firmly. “Yeah.”

“Me too,” she said, forcing relief into her voice.

“Good," he said. "'Cause tryin’ for more—” he continued, pausing to chase a dribble of ice cream with his tongue, “Well, it really didn’t work for us, did it?”

She shook her head. “Nearly ripped us apart,” she said, staring at her scoops of butter pecan, blackberry, and amaretto.

“Yeah,” he said softly, gazing at her delicate hands, wishing they were caressing his face, wound through his hair, tracing their way across his jaw… 

She cleared her throat and looked up at him suddenly, her expression vulnerable. “I couldn’t stand to lose you, Jack,” she blurted out, color draining from her face as she spoke. “I’d… I’d fall apart without you. I couldn't bear it.” 

He softened and reached to hold her wrist, running his thumb back and forth across the bottom of her palm. “Likewise, angel. I… losin’ you? It’d break me.” 

She blushed bright pink and ducked her head. 

Jack released her hand and chuckled. “You know,” he said, his tone light, “Emmy ships us.”

Katherine burst into laughter. “Oh my gosh, people actually _say_ that?” 

“Apparently,” he said, his eyes twinkling. 

“Wow, we’re old,” she said, thoroughly amused. “Does she heart us together?”

His face creased in laughter, dimples on full display. “Fuckin’ hell, my poor baby sis, she wants us t’gether so bad an’ all we’re doin’ is sittin’ here laughin’ about dumb slang.”

“I love us,” Katherine said, smiling. “There’s no one I’d rather laugh about dumb slang with.”

Jack smiled as she scooped another spoonful of ice cream into her mouth and somehow managed to end up with some on her cheek. “Hold still, babe; ya got ice cream on your face.” 

“Oh, thanks,” she said, leaning over slightly so he could get it for her. He leaned over, too, but instead of wiping at the spot with a napkin or a finger, he bent his head and kissed it away. Katherine closed her eyes and sighed happily as he moved his lips to hers, kissing the sweetness from her mouth, cupping her chin in one hand and resting the other gently on her cheek. She kissed back eagerly, setting down her cup of ice cream and tasting the mint on his tongue. She wound her arms around his neck and pulled him close until there was no longer any space between them on the park bench, until they were wrapped together so closely that even the most intrepid Central Park squirrel could not have fit between them.

Jack pulled back eventually, an expression of utter contentment on his face. “I’m glad we’re friends, girlie,” he said, picking his rapidly melting ice cream back up.

She beamed. “Me, too, Jackie.” She went back to her ice cream, too, her cheeks pink from Jack’s attentions. He was equally flushed and equally occupied with his food, although she felt him scoot up next to her so their shoulders knocked. “I could always freeze my eggs,” she said, her thoughts wandering back to their earlier conversation about children. 

“That’s expensive, though, ya know?” Jack mused. “An’ it’s no guarantee, either. I mean, you’s doin’ well an’ all, but d’you really wanna blow your money on that?”

Katherine raised an eyebrow and asked, “Well, what’s the alternative? Biological clock, Kelly—tick, tick.”

He rolled his eyes. “A sperm donor; duh.” 

She grimaced and made a noncommittal noise. “Yeeeeah, I guess, but it feels weird to pick a guy out of a catalogue, you know? And they’re all liars, anyway.” She made a face at him and poked at her ice cream. “People,” she said, sighing. “Can’t trust them.”

Jack snorted. “Ain’t that the truth.” They both returned to their ice cream, Jack tilting the cup back to drink the melted liquid and grunting as it spilled down his chin. He wiped his face, weighed the silence for a moment, pursed his lips, and turned to her. “Hey, Kath… If… If ya don’t find someone in time, you could… Uh… We could have a kid?”

Katherine did a spit-take. “What, the natural way?” 

Jack gave her a ridiculously exaggerated leer. “Well, if you wanted…” She smacked him on the shoulder, and he held up his hands, letting his voice go light. “Kidding! Kidding! Fuck, Pulitzer, I meant artificial insemination, of course! I’m not a creep.”

She stuck her tongue out at him and glared. “That’s debatable.”

Jack laughed, and she grinned, shoving him sideways and then resting her head on his shoulder. Smiling softly, she set her empty ice cream cup aside and reached to play with his hands, curling and uncurling his paint-stained fingers. She forced herself to stay focused on their hands, to avoid looking at his face, dear heavens do _not_ look him in the eyes, and said, “It’s not a half-bad idea, though. You want kids, too?”

“Yeah,” Jack said, leaning his head on top of hers. “Always.”

“And you’re single as hell,” Katherine mused, picking at a spot of dried oil paint.

“Yeah,” Jack said, his laughter vibrating through her.

“And they say sperm from older men leads to birth defects,” she added, “So you better get on it.”

“Yeah,” Jack said, pressing a kiss to her hair.

“Well, huh,” she said, lifting her head to meet his gaze. “We should keep this in mind, Kelly. I think we could pull the co-parenting thing off pretty well, you know?”

Jack smiled tenderly and tucked a wayward curl behind her ear. “I think so, too, Pulitzer.” He kissed her forehead, pulled back, and said matter-of-factly, “Besides, we’re together a lot of the time, anyway, so it wouldn’t be any harder for the kid than if we were actually a couple and had gotten divorced.”

Katherine looked impressed and nodded. “Heck, it’d probably be easier, seeing as we still get along.”

“Yeah,” Jack said, letting her run her thumb over his lower lip.

“Huh,” she said, glancing down at the bench and seeming a little bit dazed. “Well. That’s something that I never… I mean it’s an…” She shook her head, cradled his face in her cold hands, and said, “I mean, we could… What if we... We could go for it if we’re both still single at 35?” 

Jack licked his lips and swallowed hard. “That gives us, what, 9 years?” He said, aiming for nonchalance. 

“Yeah,” she said softly, tearing her gaze away from his lips and looking back up at his dark hazel eyes. 

“Sure,” he said, pulling her in for another kiss. “It’s a deal.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I KNOW, DUDES. Just hang tight, okay? Last chapter's nearly written. I need about 1000 more words to finish it off.
> 
> And just as a disclaimer, just for clarity's sake that I am not advocating doing any of this stuff in an actual relationship: Yes, I know that their relationship is completely unrealistic, and if anyone in real life were this obtuse we would all scream, but... it's fiction. Not only that, it's _fan_ fiction. So I'm not as concerned with realism or even with narrative plausibility as I am with writing the things I want to write. And this is how I want to write it. Soooo just go with it (or not). :P If I were writing this for publication I'd make it more believable, but... I'm more invested in the slow burn aspect than the realism here, so. Hopefully parts of it still appeal despite the complete and utter absurdity of it all. Thanks for reading and playing along with me!  <3


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which our heroes get their happy ending.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made up the journalism association and the award. Mentioning that just bc usually the random stuff I mention is accurate/real; this isn't.

**August (age 27)**  

Katherine sighed and reached for her phone. She was spending her Saturday afternoon watching some sort of artsy film that she was supposed to write an article about, and honestly? She’d rather be jumping rope while barefoot on a black tarmac in Arizona. Her boss had arranged for the director to send her a preview version of the movie—it was password-protected and everything—and although she’d been excited about the assignment, she’d needed only five minutes to realize that this was going to be an interminable slog.

 

_World’s Best Katherine (1:37): Come save me from my boring job?_

_Jackie (13:38): ???_

_World’s Best Katherine (1:38): I have to watch a movie and review it. It’s black and white and artistic and slow and I am going to lose my mind_

_Jackie (13:38): Why the fuck did they put you on the movie beat you hate movies_

_World’s Best Katherine (1:38): I don’t hate movies_

_Jackie (13:39): You do tho_

_World’s Best Katherine (1:39): It’s got a female lead, maybe this is some ‘let’s make the woman in the office write about the woman’ BS? I don’t know, but I’m dying a slow and painful death over here, please help_

_Jackie (13:40): Don’t die you have so much to live for_

_World’s Best Katherine (1:40): Not according to this film. Life is futile. Everything is bleak. We should all lemming our way into eternity_

_Jackie (13:40): You know disney forced those lemmings off the cliff right?_

_World’s Best Katherine (1:40): What the fuck_

_Jackie (13:41): Yeah I heard it on npr_

_World’s Best Katherine (1:41): Since when do you listen to NPR without me_

_Jackie (13:41): Hey Im cultured_

_World’s Best Katherine (1:41): Just bc you’re an artist doesn’t mean you give a shit about arugula or Ira Glass_

_Jackie (13:41): wtf is arugula_

_World’s Best Katherine (1:42): My point stands_

_Jackie (13:42): Is it a start-up company_

_World’s Best Katherine (1:42): You seriously want me to believe you listen to NPR on your own_

_Jackie (13:42): …_

_Jackie (13:43): Emmy likes it_

_World’s Best Katherine (1:43): I KNEW it!_

_World’s Best Katherine (1:43): When are you coming over_

_Jackie (13:43): film sounds dumb_

_World’s Best Katherine (1:43): Yeah I hate it_

_Jackie (13:43): Covered in paint need a shower be there by 3_

_World’s Best Katherine (1:44): You’re the best_

_Jackie (13:44): I know_

_Jackie (13:55): dyoOooü¨u vahe pøPc roÑ_

_World’s Best Katherine (1:55): Jack you have to stop texting from the shower you idiot_

_World’s Best Katherine (1:56): But yes I have popcorn_

He was as good as his word, and he knocked on her door at 3pm on the dot. He didn’t need to knock, of course; Katherine had long since given him her spare key. It was a nice formality, though, and she welcomed him in with a hug and a bowl of popcorn before flopping back onto her bed and patting the space next to her. He kicked off his shoes and crawled up next to her, both of them shifting around until they’d curled into each other, heads propped up just enough so that they could see her computer screen.

Fifteen minutes in, Jack grew restless. “Can’t you just IMDb this shit?” He asked, playing with her hair.

“Pre-release screening,” she said, stuffing another handful of popcorn into her mouth. “It’s really awful, though, isn’t it?” 

“Fuckin’ sucks,” he muttered, adjusting his baseball cap. “Can’t b’lieve I combed my hair f’r this.” 

“Why’d you comb your hair if you were just going to jam that cap on it,” Katherine asked, passing the popcorn over to him. 

He shrugged. “Dunno. Felt like I oughta. Can’t get a brush through it if it ain’t soakin’ wet, so I figured I might as well.”

“Mmm,” she said. “I get that.” She snuggled in closer to him and sighed. “I really ought to be taking notes… Ugh, I’m going to have to watch this again.”

“If you’re gonna hafta watch it again anyway,” he said, his voice low as he bent to nuzzle at her ear, “C’n we just make out instead?”

“I’m game,” she said, shrugging and shifting onto his lap. She laid a finger across his lips as he tried to pull her in, though, her expression suddenly unreadable. “Wait.” She took a deep breath and said, “What… what the hell are we doing, Jack?” 

He narrowed his eyes and said, “Kissing, if you’d _let_ me.”

She closed her eyes to hide her disappointment and sat still as he leaned up and pressed his mouth to hers, so overwhelmed by the heaviness that had settled on her heart that she barely registered his touch. He placed soft, slow kisses to the corners of her mouth and eyes, moving to brush strands of long hair off her face before meeting her lips again. After a minute he realized that she wasn’t responding, and he pulled away, frowning. “Kitty?”

She opened her mouth to respond, but just then her phone rang. “Shit, that’s my boss’ ringtone, hang on,” she said, scrambling for her phone. “Hello, Katherine Pulitzer speaking.” Jack made a face at her work voice, and she rolled her eyes at him. “Yes, I’m sitting down,” she said, rolling off the bed and standing up. Jack watched her face as her eyes widened and she clapped a hand to her mouth. “Oh! Oh, my! Oh, Mr. Eszterhazy, I—yes, yes, absolutely, I—August 20, you said? Yes? Oh! Right, yes, of course, I—yes, thank you! Oh, thank you so much!” She sank back down onto the bed and put a finger to her ear in order to hear him better. “Yes, I do, I—yes. Thank you. Thank you. You, too. I will, yes. Thank you. Goodbye.” She punched the ‘end call’ button, bent forward, and covered her face in her hands.

“Kitty?” Jack scooted over and laid a hand on her back. “You okay?”

She parted her fingers to stare at him, her deep brown eyes wide with amazement. “I won an award,” she whispered. “I… my writing, Jack, my work, it… I submitted one of my pieces to the Guild of American Journalists—they have a category for the Best Profile Featured in an Online Magazine, and you know I write a lot of those, and—oh, Jack, it’s a nationwide competition, and I… I won.” Her lips trembled and she broke into a broad smile.

He whooped and crushed her in a bear hug. “Atta girl, Kitty! Look at you, girlie, you’s a fuckin’ _star_! Fuckin’ _hell_ , we’s got the best in the business sittin’ right here!” He bounced off the bed, pushed up the window sash, and yelled out, “Hey, New York! My girl's the best writer in this whole damn _city_! Whole damn _country_ , even! You fuckin’ _wish_ you could write like her! She won a fuckin’ national _award_ ‘cause she’s a fuckin’ _champ_!”

“Jack!” Katherine scolded, but she was having trouble sounding genuinely upset through her giggles. “Stop cursing out the window, you idiot!” 

He bounded back over and tackled her backwards onto the bed. “I’m so damn _proud_ of you, Pulitzer! You—holy shit, you are an absolute _queen_!”

She laughed and smiled until her cheeks hurt, grinning up at the ceiling and holding on to Jack’s arms as he buried his head in her neck and wrapped her up like his own personal teddy bear. He lipped at her neck and made goofy noises until her stomach hurt from laughter and she had to pat his head to make him stop.

They lay there in silence then, Jack perfectly content to continue cuddling the most beautiful girl in the world until she forced him to move, Katherine still trying to believe this was real. “Hey, Jack,” she said after a while, still dreamy and dizzy with the news.

“Mmm?” He said drowsily, so wholly at peace that he thought he might fall asleep.

“Will you be my plus-one?” 

“Whassat?” He said, her words coming in a little fuzzy.

“To the awards ceremony,” she said, rubbing one of his arms. “It’s at 7pm on August 20. Come with me?” 

He woke up just enough to understand what she’d said and to be thoroughly, completely pleased. “Fuck yeah, Pulitzer. It’d be my pleasure.”

 

*

 

When the day of the awards ceremony finally arrived, Katherine got to Jack’s apartment a little earlier than she’d planned. Usually when she came over she’d knock and wait for him to either let her in or yell at her that she had a key, stop knocking and get in here already, but this time she abandoned the pretense and opened the door herself.

“Jack?” She called. She didn’t hear an answer, but she did hear a click and hum coming from the bathroom closet that housed the washer and dryer, so she headed for the sound. The door was ajar, so she pushed it open and stepped inside, looking for her best friend. “Jack?” Then she squeaked, flushed scarlet, and slapped her hands over her eyes. He was doing the laundry, yes, but he was doing so buck naked, and she’d gotten an unfiltered eyeful of his bare ass. “I’m so sorry!” She yelped, backing out of the bathroom, hitting her shoulder on the door frame as she went. Thoroughly embarrassed, she braced herself against the back of the sofa, trying to forget the ropy scar she’d seen stretching from his left hipbone down to the top of his hamstring. Oh, and his beautiful ass. _Fuck_.

He chuckled and moved to stand strategically behind the door, reaching out to pull her hands down from her face. “What, do I really look that bad?” 

She tried to look anywhere but his laughing eyes, but of course she failed miserably. As she always did. They drew her in with some sort of witchy magnetism, and she tried to resist, but… “No. You—you look amazing,” she whispered, shocked that she’d dared to say so. A smug smile spread across his face as she added, “Unfairly so.” She swallowed hard, her mouth suddenly dry at the satisfaction in his expression.

“Want another few seconds of your own private peep show?” He teased. “I gotta warn you, though—they’s some more stories on my skin you ain’t seen that you’ll wanna know about, an’ they ain’t gonna come cheap.”

“Like the one on your left side?”

His face hardened slightly, and he nodded.

Mouth still dry, she croaked, “What’s the price?”

He raised his eyebrows, relaxing back into the cocky attitude she expected from him, and said, “We still doin’ that? Okay.” He thought for a moment, and as she watched the spark in his eyes she was suddenly sure that she’d gotten herself into something larger than she’d bargained for, but… what the hell. She didn’t have to do it. She could live with not knowing. Curiosity killed the cat and all. 

But on the other hand, she _hated_ not knowing things, and whatever he wanted probably wouldn’t be _that_ bad—heck, she even had enough money for Bali now—and she was pretty adventurous, so… she could handle most anything he threw at her. Yeah. Yeah, this was fine. Still, despite Jack’s habitual brashness, she wasn’t expecting the next words that came out of his mouth. He looked at her straight on, his voice steady, if a little teasing, and said, “A weddin’ ring.” 

Katherine froze in shock for a second and then blinked rapidly, trying to process his words. “Are… are you serious?”

“What do you think?” he said, his playful tone belaying the anxiety and hope warring in his eyes.

She pursed her lips and thought for a moment, thought of all the stories he’d told her and all the trust they’d built, all the times he’d made her laugh and all the times he’d held her while she cried, all the ways he’d coaxed her into growing beyond what she’d felt capable of and all the ways she’d stood by him when he’d felt most alone, and then she nodded. 

In some ways it was sudden, but… they’d been dating for years, really. They’d just been too scared to admit it. 

And as she stood there, looking at his artist’s hands and scarred skin, she finally let herself accept a truth that she’d known for ages: She loved him. Holy hell, she _loved_ him. She loved him, she loved him, she _loved_ him, and… and he loved her. They hadn’t said it out loud yet, true, but how many times had they said it in other ways? He’d said it over and over in silence, with his hands and his smile and his gentle kisses, in the way he always fought her side, in the way he dropped everything when she was in trouble, in the way he listened to her thoughts and fears and advice and always, _always_ made her feel like she was enough. 

He… Oh. He thought she was enough. He thought she was enough. Jack Kelly thought that she was enough, just as she was. Enough to deserve love. Enough to be worth staying for. Enough for him. Forever. 

… _Oh_. 

Katherine’s eyes filled with tears as her heart overflowed with the knowledge that he loved her, yes, but not only that—he loved her as she was. He’d had time to see her as herself, to learn all of her faults, to find every chink in her armor and tear her apart if he’d wanted to, to leave her broken and alone and crumpled on the floor. He had the weapons he needed to ruin her completely, to wound her deeper than her father ever had, to rip her limb from limb in the ways her brothers had tried but failed to do. He could have spent years pointing out all her mistakes, all her failings, all the ways she wasn’t what she could be and all the ways he’d be better off without her, and what had he done instead? He’d seen her and known her and loved her anyway. Loved her desperately. Loved her fiercely. Loved her fully.

He… he loved her. Jack Kelly loved her. Oh, heavens, Jack Kelly _loved_ her. And… and she loved him. “Alright, then,” she said, her voice soft but firm. “I’ll pay.”

His eyes went wide and he clutched at the door. “Wait.” He struggled for words as the wariness fled from his eyes and the bottom dropped out of his stomach. “You… you mean it?” 

She ducked her head and smiled, a small smile that blossomed into something so full and warm that, as Jack watched her face light up, he had no doubt she was in earnest. “I do if you do. I… I love you, Jack. Romantically. I… I have for years. I just never thought I was good enough for you, and I… I was never brave enough to ask, either, because… well, I knew you’d say no. And that… that would have shattered me, Jack. I just… I couldn’t bear the thought of losing you. I couldn’t risk it. But I’ll risk it now, because I think we’ve spent too long telling each other everything except what mattered most. Because I think we’re wonderful together, and I think you feel the same way. And because… because I love you, Jack. I do. I love you. Deeply and completely. Forever. For always. I love you in all of your brilliant, beautiful complexity, Jack Kelly, and… and if you love me, too, then I will follow you to the ends of the earth.” 

He gripped the side of the door so tightly that his knuckles turned white with the pressure, and his eyes flicked back and forth across her face, trying to make her out behind the blinding yellow sunburst that had just exploded in his head. “I…” He shook his head in disbelief. “ _Katherine_ ,” he breathed. “Katherine, I…” 

“Come on, now, Kelly,” she said, trying not to faint, “Don’t hold out on me—do you feel the same, or should I stand here and hope that the earth will swallow me whole?” She asked, her heart pounding so hard she thought she might drown in the noise. 

He blinked and ran a hand through his hair, which was still wet from the shower he must have just taken. “Katherine,” he said slowly, his voice shot through with wonder, “I… I love you. I do. I really do. I… I love you so much it _hurts_.” His words were simple, but they fell so heavily that Katherine felt as they’d squeezed the air out of her. He laughed and dragged one hand down his cheek, the other still clutching the door for balance. “Saints alive, Katherine, I love you. I _love_ you. I fuckin’ love you, angel. I… I’ve loved you since about the time we had lunch by the lake all the way back in college, an’ ain’t nobody ever compared ta you since. You’s the smartest, sexiest, most goshdamn wonderful person I’s ever met, girlie, an’ I…” His voice caught, and he shook his head. “Katherine,” he whispered, “Can you believe it? I love you, an’ after all this time, after all these years—you love me back. You love me. You _love_ me. Fuckin’ hell, Katherine Pulitzer, you fuckin’ _love_ me!”

She smiled and took a step closer to him. “Well, then,” she said, reaching to fold her left hand over his. “You’d better put a ring on this hand as soon as possible, Jackie, because I want to spend the rest of my life hearing your stories.” She gave him a flirtatious wink of her own. “And staring at your gorgeous, gorgeous ass.” 

He guffawed and pulled her face to the side of the door so that he could kiss her senseless. “I’ll get right on that, wife-to-be,” he said, once they finally paused to breathe. They were both panting, their foreheads pressed together, exhilarated by the thought of getting to do this as often as they wanted from here on out, of knowing exactly what it meant, of being freely and fully and wonderfully in love. Jack cupped her chin and traced across her bottom lip, feeling his heart skip a beat as she stretched her tongue out to lick his finger. “Fuckin’ hell,” he whispered, trying to keep his knees from buckling. “Lemme just say, Kitty—there ain’t no one in the whole damn world I’d rather have oglin’ me than you. I love you, babe. I love you so much I can’t hardly stand it, an’ there ain’t no way in hell I’m ever lettin’ you go.” 

“Good,” she said, far too giddy to pull off the sauciness she’d aimed for. She tossed her head, but then she smiled; she was blissfully, stunningly happy, and she wanted him to know it. Eyes glistening, she leaned in for another kiss. She felt his arms wrap around her as she did so, and she knew with utter certainty that here, right here, safe and warm in his embrace, his lips on hers, his hand in her hair? This was where she belonged. This was where she was meant to be. This was her home. She pulled back to kiss him softly on the forehead and whispered, “Perfect.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE END!!!! 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed it! <333 Let me know what you thought if you feel so inclined, and thank you *so* much to all of you for following me along on this wild flight of fancy. Special thanks to those of you who left kudos, and double special thanks to those of you who commented (so many of you did that so kindly, and some of you did so both kindly and faithfully, and all of you made my day every single time), and a big surprise hello and thank youuuuuuuuuuuu to those of you who squeed at me behind the scenes. All of your sweet support means the world to me, it really does. <3


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